Howl Until it Hurts
by Takada Saiko
Summary: When Amanda asks how they met, Martin reluctantly tells her the story about how Project Incubus became the Rowdy 3. Following from Martin being brought into Blackwing through their escape.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Her sides were hurting from how hard she'd been laughing. She was rocked back, nearly falling off the bench that they'd taken from their newly-found van, boots in the air and tears barely escaping her eyes that were squeezed tightly closed as she shook, finally laughing hard enough that even sound couldn't escape her. She could hear Vogel still giggling with her and could nearly hear Cross grinning like a madman - it was his joke that had sent her into hysterics, after all, and he'd be damned proud of that accomplishment - and Amanda desperately tried to calm herself. Deep breaths. In and then out. Again and again. Do not look at them until control was regained or they'd send her back into the fit.

Finally, Amanda managed to regain control and she loosed her final deep breath. "Okay. I'm going to officially log it back there never to ask any of you _that_ question again," she managed and her dark eyes opened, sweeping the male members of the Rowdy Three around their campfire. They had settled for the night with plenty of alcohol to go around. Even the boys were buzzed - a difficult task, she knew - and had agreed to fill in their newest member to a variety of stories and inside jokes that she didn't know yet by way of a game of Questions and Answers. So far it had been a lot of fun. She had found out that Gripps had once managed to surf on top of the van for nearly ten miles, that Vogel was no longer allowed in some small town in Texas, and that Cross had quite literally run circles around the cops that had tried to break up a Rowdy Three bash in New Mexico.

The stories were flowing as easily as the booze and the boys and Amanda raised another shot and drank as she let out a loud half cry, half howl that had Martin chuckling. She turned her attention to him, her grin only widening as she thought of the way that the Rowdies leader zeroed in on people and how uncomfortable it left them. He had no problem with her gaze, so it seemed, though her giggling, drunk self might have had something to do with that. "Okay, Martin. Your turn."

He lifted his dark eyebrows in question, leaned up against his bent knees, elbows resting there and blue eyes now focused in on her. "You ain't asked a question," he pointed out around the cigarette hanging from his mouth. "What do you wanna know?"

Amanda thought for a moment, her dark eyes flickering to each of the others. "How'd you meet the others? I haven't heard that one yet."

A hush fell over four of the Rowdy Three and Martin shifted, pulling the stub of a cigarette from his lips and flicking it to the ground. He didn't look amused. He looked irritated, and even though it took Amanda a moment she realized it was the question that had done it. She squirmed on her perch for a moment, wondering if she should should retract the question.

"Met while we were all being held by Blackwing the first time," he huffed after a moment and stood, never making eye contact with her, and sauntered away from the group without another word.

The remaining Rowdy members sat in silence for a long moment after he left, Amanda feeling like an ass. She'd known that. Of course she'd known that. She had just… it had seemed like a good question at the time, like it would have a funny story attached to it. There was nothing funny about Blackwing. The memory of their second trip there still haunted her. Searching for them had been terrifying enough, but the joy of finding them had been tainted by realizing just what they had been through. They had been starved and tortured, caged and forced to submit. She could still recall the terror - something that she had never thought she would see - in Martin's eyes as the they had raced down the dark hallway together, a man at the other end causing him to freeze when he'd called his name. Martin had slipped between their would-be attacker and Amanda, the deep growl that had escaped him almost feral. They'd gotten away, but she couldn't shake the fear that had rolled off of him in waves. All he'd told her at the time was that the man was called Priest and that Martin would let him hurt her.

"He's not mad at you," Gripps said softly.

"Just at Blackwing," Cross added. "Only good thing that came outa that shit was us."

"Martin hates talking about it," Vogel told her, his voice much quieter than she was used to as he took a seat next to her and wrapped his arms around her in a big hug. All of a sudden Gripps and Cross were joining him and Amanda found herself enveloped in an almost-complete Rowdy Three hug.

She smiled, holding onto them and leaning in. She could feel them pulling at her anxiety just a little, leading her quietly back to that warm and fuzzy state she'd been in before she had stuck her foot in her mouth. A soft sigh escaped her and they finally loosened their hold, but none of them moved too far.

It was everything she could do to move from the close cocoon of safety that they had formed around her, but Martin hadn't come back and she wanted to make sure he knew she didn't expect more when he did. They made her feel safe and she'd be damned if she returned that with any less.

Martin was perched on an old, fallen tree a ways away from their camp. He tilted his head a little at her approach, but Amanda paused, waiting for a sign she wasn't intruding.

"You gonna stand there all night?" he groused and she took it, joining him on his log. He offered her a cigarette he had already started in on and she took it, breathing it in.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"Bringing it up. It was stupid."

He grunted and she handed the cigarette back. "You're allowed to ask questions, you know."

"Yeah, but-"

"You good to be here a while?" She shot him a questioning look and he pulled a flask out of his vest to pass that over as well. "It's a long story."

"You don't have to-"

"I know, but you're one of us. We don't keep things from each other."

They had a full pack of cigarettes and some crazy strong booze that he'd had on him. She nodded slowly, settling in to get comfortable for a story that she thought might be anything but that.

* * *

Notes: Here we go. I have no idea how often this will be updated, but the idea grabbed hold and won't let go. I have a bunch on my writing plate right now, but some plot bunnies just won't be nudged away :P


	2. Not Crazy

**Not Crazy**

He wasn't crazy. He knew how it would sound, but he wasn't.

The police had picked him up first and hauled him away for questioning. He had no idea what to tell them. He hadn't _tried_ to hurt her. It had all happened so fast. She'd been worried about him, he knew. He'd lost so much weight recently and the doctors couldn't figure out why. It wasn't like he didn't eat. He did. He ate a lot and he ate often. That wasn't the issue. The food just didn't do much for him. His body didn't use it the way others did.

They didn't have a lot of money to begin with and she had gone through her reserves trying to find something like an answer. Something to give him a chance. They'd hit another dead end and she'd been crying and holding onto him so tight that it had almost hurt. He had been so damn hungry and it had just happened. He didn't know how and he certainly couldn't tell _them_. How was he suppose to explain that he could smell her fear and anxiety? That after a moment he could taste it? That he had caught tastes of it before when he snuck out to parties or concerts with friends. Anywhere where emotions ran high. This though…. this had been more than a taste. How could he tell them that?

He couldn't. He had no way to explain how his mom had dropped to the floor before he even knew anything had happened and he felt the surge of energy flood his entire body like he'd just eaten a feast. She'd woken up, but there was something missing. A lot missing. She'd screamed for three straight hours like she'd lost her mind and the cops had come.

So he'd sat there in his torn jeans and rock t-shirt, his platinum blond hair - no, he hadn't dyed it. It had been that way for years, but he couldn't explain that one either - an odd contrast against dark eyebrows, and he was a bundle of raw nerves and too much energy. He hadn't had this much energy in…. years. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good. Physically, anyway. It was hard to appreciate it in the wake of everything.

The teen caught a strange whiff of something and he looked up, finding a couple of the cops side eying him, their judgement clear. He could smell it across the room. Weird. It was like a floodgate had opened and all he wanted to do was close it back up. They were going to lock him away. He wasn't crazy, but they were going to lock him away. That or send him to jail. Could they do that? He was a minor. Surely they wouldn't…

All attention went to the door as a man in full uniform walked in, hat tucked under his arm and he spoke to the officer that had told the white-haired teen to sit until they came for him. The same teen struggled to get a better view of what was happening now. He couldn't make out the conversation, but the cop was nervous. Intimidated. It smelled good.

The military man pushed past him, making a beeline for the teen. They locked eyes and the man offered him a thin smile. "You must be Martin. Officer Hicks says that's what you go by."

Martin gave a quick, affirmative jerk of his head, but he didn't say a word.

"I'm Scott Riggins. I work for the United States military, and I have a few questions for you. Is that alright with you, Martin?"

The next motion was a shrug and he turned his blue gaze down to his dusty boots.

"First thing's first. Your mother is at the hospital being evaluated. They believe that she's undergone severe trauma. Can you tell me what happened, son?"

"No."

He felt Riggins looking him over. "I know authority figures aren't exactly cool these days, and from your record it looks like you've had some run-ins with the law already, but I can't help you if you don't help me, Martin."

"I don't care who you work for, man," the teen snapped. "It ain't gonna make it sound any less nuts. I'm _not_ crazy."

"I've seen a few crazy things in my day. Why don't you try me?"

Blue eyes narrowed from behind his glasses and he set his shoulders stubbornly. If they were going to lock him away, he wasn't going to help them.

Riggins sighed and leaned forward. "They're still running tests, but you know what I bet they'll find?"

"What's that?"

"Absolutely nothing. Just like all the medical tests you've been undergoing for the last…. six years, is it? Do you remember what started it?"

Martin tensed and Riggins pulled a file out. "My division specializes in individuals of…. extraordinary abilities, Martin. This means that I am responsible for searching these cases down and assessing if we can… help them. This isn't the first instance of something like this happening, is it?"

He frowned as Riggins handed him a photo of a boy that he hadn't seen in years. He wouldn't even remember him if the kid hadn't dropped while trying to break Martin's arm. They'd said he'd had a freak aneurysm or something. It had been right after that that Martin had gotten sick and he hadn't put a lot of thought into it, but now…

"Our theory is that you feed off of something. Energy, most likely."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Martin asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

"We're not entire sure yet, but we'd like to find out."

"Who's we?"

"The organization I work for. Blackwing. We think you may be very special. The doctors you've been seeing won't be able to help you and you will either to continue hurting people you care about or you'll eventually starve to death. We can help you find a safe way for you to feed and-"

"My mom," Martin cut him off. "No one's gonna be able to help her."

"No, but the more we find out about you, the better chance we have of helping her."

"You'd do that? What do you get out of it?"

Riggins' lips quirked up at the corners. "You're a clever kid, aren't you? Sharp. I like that." He paused and leaned in. "You're right, Martin. Nothing comes for free, but it doesn't have to be one sided . Blackwing will get information, you'll get a way to cope with these abilities."

"And a way to help my mom?" the teen pressed. She'd given everything for him. The last thing he'd wanted was to hurt her.

Riggins gave him a short nod. "I give you my word."

Martin couldn't sense any nervous energy off of him, so he didn't think he was lying. If this worked maybe, just maybe, he could get things back to normal.

At least he knew he wasn't crazy.

* * *

Notes: Well this little thing is taking off. I feel like that's the running commentary for all of my Rowdy 3 stories... you know, the ones that I promised myself I wouldn't write. Ah well.

I'm having a lot of fun working through some theories about how the Rowdy 3's powers work and what that might have meant for them when they were younger and didn't fully understand them. The idea that he accidentally fed from his mom actually came from a line in a story a friend mentioned. SetMeAtopThePyre commented on it one day and I haven't been able to shake it since, so here we are. I'm yet to find the actual story, though, so if it's yours shoot me a note and I'll credit you by name with that idea because unless canon says otherwise that is 100% my head canon now.


	3. Learning to Cope

**Learning to Cope**

They'd taken his bag at the door and with it went his extra clothes, a couple of comics, and - worst of all - his walkman and headset. He'd told them _no_ when they had asked, but then they'd just taken it anyway. Martin had fought, but it hadn't taken a lot to haul him off his feet and start down the hall to the room where they'd instructed him to strip, shower, and change into the white jumpsuit with a symbol sewn into it that he didn't recognize. All like it was the most normal thing in the world.

As he stood in the shower, feeling the hot water burning his fair skin, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was completely and utterly alone in the world.

He had had no one to help stop this. He was a minor, and now that they had ahold of him they sure as hell weren't going to let him live on his own. His mother had been all he'd had in the world. He had no idea what had happened to his father - nor did he care to ask - and if his mother had had extended family they were long gone by now. It had just been them. Now she was hospitalized and he wasn't much better off.

Martin frowned at the ugly jumpsuit. It was too bright and too heavy. Instead of pulling it up around his shoulders like he was supposed to he left it hanging halfway at his waist, the tank top they'd given him to put under it serving as his sole shirt. He blatantly ignored the woman that tried to tell him to fix it. If they thought that he was there to be their perfect little lab rat, they'd have something else coming.

The shoes they left for him were too soft compared to his usual heavy boots that he wore. They squeaked with every step, making it impossible to not alert the world to his presence and by the time that he was led to his new room he was in a foul mood.

It was too perfect, but not for him. The walls were bright white, freshly painted. The bed was made, every corner of the sheets tucked in at all the right places. There was a desk with books and a pad of paper and a bin full of pens. An open closet showed several sets of jumpsuits just like the one he wasn't wearing correctly then and another pair of the horrible shoes. It was stifling. Suffocating. Like a pristine little cage so the rat didn't know he was in the lab. He turned his nose up at it and shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose irritably.

"Don't like it?"

Martin whirled around, finding Major Scott Riggs standing with his hands clasped in front of him. "I want my stuff back. They took it."

Riggins nodded, but something told Martin that didn't mean he was agreeing to do as the teen had demanded. It was an acknowledgement that he'd been heard. "It's an adjustment, I know, but we need to limit outside contacts to get the best results. A controlled environment will help us narrow down what needs to be done to better help you control what you can do."

Blue eyes narrowed and Martin stared at him for a long moment. He could smell something off of him. It wasn't fear, but something else. He wasn't sure what yet. "Least give me my music."

"Eventually. Maybe."

"What'dya expect me to do until then? Make friends in the freak zoo? Or am I the only one here?"

"There are others. I imagine you've… sensed them. But no, not yet. Again, we're limiting outside contact. You'll keep a steady schedule. Up at five for testing. Breakfast at seven. Morning studies to make sure you don't fall behind. Afternoon testing begins after a lunch period and it's lights out at ten."

"I don't like quiet."

"It'll help you focus."

"I don't have a problem focusing."

"Don't you?" Riggins asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. He motioned into the room. "The room is yours. I'd say it's a little bigger than what you're used to back home, wouldn't you? It'll start to feel like your own soon." He patted Martin on the shoulder and made a comment about zipping the jumpsuit up before turning to leave, the doors shutting automatically behind him.

Martin couldn't sleep that night. He tried, but he was still buzzing with energy and it was too quiet in the room. The walls were too thick and too bright and it was too quiet. It was deafening like his mother's screams that morning.

* * *

Martin had been poked and prodded by enough doctors for a lifetime. Nothing bothered him any more, and it hadn't even occurred to him to be nervous over the testing. He'd assumed it meant what it always did: drawing enough blood work to feed a small coven of vampires, a few physical tests, maybe some scans….

Blackwing wanted that and more.

The first round of morning testing left him exhausted and achy, though funny enough the electric shock had actually given him a burst of energy rather than taking it from him. They were more interested in that than Martin liked.

He had thought they might finally show him the cafeteria when breakfast time rolled around, but instead they delivered him into a mostly empty room. It was pitch black, but he could smell the fear rolling off the other person there. Not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours or so of being in Blackwing's custody he got the impression that choosing to go with them had been a bonzo bad idea.

The lights flashed on without warning and Martin squinted hard. His eyes finally adjusted and he saw a terrified man strapped to a chair, a gag in his mouth keeping him mostly quiet. His fear spiked and it tasted amazing, and Martin got it. Breakfast. The guy was breakfast.

"Good morning, Martin," Riggins greeted over a loudspeaker and the teen squared his shoulders.

"No."

"You're never going to learn to control it without practice."

It was so practical sounding, or would have been if the bound man weren't whimpering like a kicked dog.

"I might kill him. No."

There was a short sigh before the comm cut and Martin heard the door unlock. He scrambled for it before they changed their minds. Or before he changed his. The man smelled like a damned feast, but he couldn't control it, and he was far from desperate enough to be forced into it.

Riggins was waiting on him with two armed guards. Martin eyes them warily and Riggins waved them off. He took a step forward. "Martin, I told you when you came in that we're not going to let you starve to death in here."

"So just put me in the room with him," the teen snapped. "I'll… I dunno, soak it up. It happens sometimes. Anywhere there's a lot of people with a lot of hype."

"Is that how you've been doing it?" Riggins asked curiously. "It won't last, son. You're proof of that right here. You may gain some time, but you will starve if you don't feed."

"You don't know that. You said you don't know how it works, so you can't know that!"

Riggins sighed, his expression reminding Martin of so many other adults that seemed to think they knew best. They rarely did in his experience. They did want to control though. "Okay."

Blue eyes blinked hard. That had been unexpected. "Okay?"

"I can't help you if you won't help yourself, son, but unless you feed, you're not going to survive long. I didn't bring you here to die."

The words hadn't sounded like a threat, not then. It was days later that one of the scientists that were supposed to be helping him fit him into a machine, locked him down, and flipped a switch.

Martin screamed. The sound echoed in the room and bounced off the walls as his back arched and somewhere amidst the pain he felt the hard tug of the straps against his wrists and ankles. It wasn't electricity. That he could take. That he could absorbed. This was something _very_ different and it hurt like hell.

He wasn't sure how long it lasted. It could have been seconds, but it felt like it would never end, and when it finally released him he collapsed back against the table. Everything pulsed around him. He didn't think they'd taken his glasses, but he felt like he'd stick his head under water and opened his eyes. He couldn't see, couldn't breathe. He could barely think through the pain and the clawing hunger. It had only been this bad once before that he remembered, and it hadn't been that long. He shouldn't be this bad yet.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Martin felt them unstrapping him and lifting him up. He couldn't focus on where they were taking him or do anything except being dragged between them.

He must have lost consciousness somewhere in there because when he opened his eyes he was seated on the floor, propped up against the wall. His head was killing him and his limbs were heavy. Everything hurt and the hunger was strong enough to make him sick.

Then there was the smell and it drew his undivided attention. The same man from days before was strapped to the chair in the middle of the same room. He was terrified and a struggling, muffled cry escaping him.

Energy flooded his system, filling him up and replenishing strength. Martin pulled himself to his feet, staggering just a little against the wall even as the door opened. He turned, a deep growl startling him, especially when he realized it had come from his own throat. He felt better. Stronger. More focused. He also felt like taking Riggins' head off about then. "You son of a bitch!" he snarled as he exploded forward, but suddenly he found the pair of guards from days before with their guns aimed directly at him and he slammed to a stop.

Riggins was completely unruffled. "I told you I didn't bring you here to die, Martin. I'm not going to let you starve yourself to death because you're stubborn. You are my responsibility, do you understand that?"

"Gonna gave them shoot me?" the teen growled. "Lota good that'd do."

"It won't do any actual damage, but what comes out of those guns will pack a hell of a punch."

"So what? Is this the plan from here on out? If I refuse to go through with one of your crazy tests or refuse to feed off of someone you zap the hell out of me and force me?"

"I hope not. That's not going to get either if anywhere. Walk with me, Martin. They're not going to hurt you, because you're not a threat, are you?"

Martin snapped his snarky retort short and his shoulders sagged a little. Pick your battles. That was a lesson his mother had always tried to teach him and he was doing this to help save her. He was trapped in this place and even if he attacked Riggins right then he'd never be able to fight his way out from where he was. It might feel really good right about then, but it'd be pointless.

He followed Riggins back to his room, listening to the older man explain that things were different because he was different. Special. He would have to adjust and that would take time. Riggins understood and he'd help in any way he knew how. They would learn together.

Martin let him talk, his silence taken as acceptance and he was left alone to his pristine cage with its white walls. He stood there a moment, excess energy stirring inside, desperate for a release.

Well, Riggins _had_ told him they were going to help him to cope.

It didn't take him long to trash the room, but he felt better for it in the end. They wouldn't though, and that'd just be the cherry on top.

* * *

Notes: Originally this was going to be two different chapters, but I decided it flowed a bit better as one, so you get a bit longer one this time. I've gotten some really positive feedback from this little series, so I'm glad you're enjoying it!


	4. Interconnectedness

**Interconnectedness**

Days shifted into weeks and weeks into months. There was a routine to this place that was stifling, but Martin found his small escapes where he could. Riggins came nearly every day after testing, sitting with him for long stretches and talking with him. Sometimes they would go over his studies and sometimes Riggins would discuss his theories about the interconnectedness of everything around them. He truly thought Martin had been led to them. They would talk about his mother and how she was doing in the new facility that Blackwing was paying for to make sure she was well cared for. It wasn't that Martin had made any sort of conscious decision along the way that he should trust Riggins, but the older man talked to him like an actual human being, asking opinions and discussing rather than barking orders like the doctors and scientists that he dealt with most of the day every day. Even when surrounded by people, it was isolating, but Riggins helped provide him with at least a small outlet for that.

When he was gone, though, everything was quiet and it was enough to drive Martin mad.

At one point he convinced someone to get him a radio, but the damn thing only played "calming," classical music. It had been like some sort of sick joke. He threw it against the wall outside his door and watched the pieces scatter down the hall with a smirk playing on his features. He just needed _noise_. He didn't have to make it, but if they wouldn't give him anything that would, he'd do what he had to.

They started locking him in at some point, probably to keep the destruction contained. Riggins hadn't said anything about the chaos that was Martin's room or the fact that he'd never really corrected the jumpsuit and how he wore it. It was something, and Martin would take as many somethings as he could to retain at least a fraction of himself in his new normal.

The knock startled him awake late one night and the door slid opened, Riggins' shadowy figure dark against the light from the hall. Martin grabbed his glasses and placed them on his nose to get a clearer view of the older man. A quick glance at the clock showed it was two in the morning. Great. He'd only fallen asleep an hour before. He shot a glare at Riggins and buried himself back under the blankets. "Come back in the mornin'," he huffed.

"This can't wait. I need your help with something."

"You need to run a test at two am?" the teen growled.

"No. There's been an… incident. I think you might be able to help with it."

That caught Martin's attention. He tossed back the covers, his bare feet already on the cold floor. "What'dya mean?"

Riggins motioned and the teen followed, not bothering with shoes or a change of clothes. His interest was focused on something to break up the routine and he was nearly bouncing as he followed down the way.

In the abstract he knew the facilities had to be huge, but this was a part he had seen yet. The walls were the same bright white but energy buzzed through the air and Martin was drawn to it. He'd never felt anything like it.

"Adam Reid was brought in to us two days ago," Riggins explained as he motioned for Martin to follow him up a set of stairs. "As far as we've been able to tell, he has an excess of kinetic energy that he can't control. We haven't been able to speak with him yet because he can't or won't stop."

Martin paused with Riggins to peer down into a room through a huge glass window. The walls were padded, but Adam Reid was bouncing off of them as he pinged from one end of the room to the other. There were others. Riggins had said there were, but Reid was the first one Martin had seen for himself.

"He's freaked out. Not sure he could stop if he wanted to," the blond murmured, tilting his head a little. "So what do ya want from me?"

"To stop him."

Blue eyes watched the figure below. Best Martin could tell he was a little older. It was hard to be sure with the constant motion. The one thing he was sure of was that he didn't want to be doing what he was doing. Martin had known that particular feeling well. "What if I hurt him?"

"You won't."

Riggins had a hell of a lot more confidence than Martin did in the situation. The teen snorted and glanced over. "How'd you get him in anyway?"

"He was brought in by a new recruit. You haven't met him yet."

"Lot of people here I ain't met," Martin huffed. "There stairs or somethin'? I can't reach him up here. And not through this." He tapped the glass.

Riggins motioned to the door to their right and Martin pulled in a deep breath through his nose. It was meant to calm him, to focus him, so he had a chance to not hurt the poor guy. It brought something else in with the scent of fear though. Something he didn't recognize, and he spun, looking for the source and finding only Riggins and the guards they'd come in with, not the source of the scent that screamed _danger_ in his mind. It unsettled him.

"You'll do just fine," Riggins encouraged, mistaking his action for hesitation over his own control.

Martin gave a brief nod and started out the door and down the stairs, trying to shake the knot that was forming in the pit of his stomach and the strange sensation flooding into his body with every intake of breath that there was someone nearby that was _wrong_. It wasn't Reid, wasn't Riggins. He didn't know who or what it was, and right now he didn't have time to think about it.

The door opened and he stepped into the room, briefly wondering how many times Riggins had been watching him behind large panes of reflective glass as they tried to find out what made him tick. He didn't have long think about it as Reid hit too damn close for comfort. He jumped, barely missing being taken off his feet and had to dodge again only seconds later. The third time he he went flying, Reid slamming into him hard.

Martin hit the wall and fell face first into the soft floor. He shook his head hard, the hit focusing him in. Okay. He wanted to play. Martin was game.

Palms pressed against the floor he launched himself up to his feet, exploding forward and this time as Reid came at him he was ready, ducking low to catch him in what was essentially a bear hug around the middle and he used his own weight and Reid's momentum toss him off his balance. A laugh - the first one since he'd come to this place - escaped him as they both went tumbling, but he gained control of the roll so that he landed on top, his fingers wrapped in Reid's shirt and energy flowed freely.

It was different than the other times. It tasted better, and in that moment Martin knew he wasn't going to hurt the man. There wouldn't be a change in him. Somehow, he was able to feed off of people like him.

Reid went limp and Martin released him, sitting back on the mats that made up the floor and he found himself grinning. That was the most fun he'd had in a long time.

"What…. what'd you do to me?"

The grin settled into a smirk. "Drained some of your energy," Martin answered. "You gotta store there, man. It's like a buffet."

"You eat it?"

Martin leaned against bent knees as Reid started to pull himself up to sitting, looking around. "Basically."

"Thank you."

Blue eyes blinked hard and Martin reached up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, wincing as he felt the repercussions of hitting the ground with them on. One of the lenses was cracked too. Oh well. It could have been a hell of a lot worse.

"So…. where are we?" Reid asked.

"Blackwing. It's -"

The door slid open and Riggins was followed by his guards. "We've got it from here. Thank you, Martin."

There was something odd to his tone, as if he were dismissing the teen. Martin supposed he was, and he gave one more quirked smile to Reid. Maybe he'd see him again. After all, if he could feed off others like him without hurting them, that meant they didn't have to keep him locked away. Maybe it was good he'd gotten out of bed in the earliest hours of the morning. "You may be onto something with this whole…. Interconnectedness thing you got goin'," he told Riggins and the older man patted his shoulder.

"I might just."

* * *

Notes: There was something about the way Martin talks to Riggins in S1 that makes me feel like he truly trusted him at one point and feels very, very betrayed by him, so I feel like there must have been at least some not-so-terrible moments in Blackwing. Maybe early on when he was still a little disillusioned that they were wanting to help him.

Oh, and for those that have been asking: Gripps shows up in the next chapter ;)

Apologies for any crazy typos. I do the majority of my writing on my phone and even a read through or two doesn't always catch them all. If you see anything major, please feel free to drop me a note so that I can correct it. Thanks :D


	5. Not Alone

**Not Alone**

He tugged hard at his collar, a low snarl escaping on a breath as he fought with it. It was too tight with the buttons done all the way up the dress shirt and the tie snug against his throat. "If you wanna choke me to death I can't do what you want me to," he growled, shooting Riggins a glare.

The older man chuckled a little. "It's a suit, Martin, not a noose."

"More like a straight jacket. I can't move in the damn thing."

"Language," Riggins chided lightly and reached forward to straighten the tie Martin had been so desperate to loosen. "

"Exactly what do you want from me today? I mean, it ain't every day I get a pass outa the freak zoo."

Martin's smirk wasn't mirrored and Riggins sighed. He wasn't as amused as the teen was by all the nicknames he'd come up with for the Blackwing facilities. "We've found a subject that may have abilities very similar to yours."

That stopped the teen in his tracks. "You said I was the only one."

"No, I said you might be. The more we learn about you, the better the chance is we'll find others like you and to help them."

Martin shifted, blue eyes finding the shiny dress shoes that he was sure he hated more than the squeaky shoes they usually gave him. "He hurt someone?"

"Not to our knowledge, but you know how difficult it can be to control. We want to take what we've learned with you and help Mr Gripps before things go too far."

"So what'dya need from me?"

"His parents are… Iooking for some clarity about our program. He's close to your age, potentially very similar abilities. I thought you could give them some peace of mind." Riggins shot him a warning look. "This isn't a game, Martin. You'll need to be on your best behavior. We can help this young man if you'll help us do it."

"Fine. Whatever. Just don't know why I have to wear this getup," he groused and stalked past Riggins, trying to surprends some of his nearly overwhelming excitement. He hadn't been outside the facility in over a year now. Hadn't seen the outside world, been in a car, or…

Martin spun. "The car have a radio?"

Riggins groaned.

* * *

Apparently military vehicles believed in music about as much as military research bases. Martin tried to be content watching the scenery pass by until they'd reached the airport. He hadn't known they'd be flying. He'd never been in an airplane before, much less a private jet, and by the time they landed he was sure he never wanted to again.

He was still a little sick when they pulled up to a small home, but he caught a sense of something unexpected. He'd gotten to the point where he could sense others with strange abilities within Blackwing, but this was new. This was familiar. Maybe Riggins had been right. Maybe he wasn't alone.

The family seemed so normal. The father was tall and a little round faced. The mother had a sweet, although hesitant smile. There was a little girl clinging to her mother's hand, her hair braided into pigtails and she seemed a little unsettled by the site of the tall teen with bright white hair. The scent or whatever it was was stronger than before inside the house. It buzzed around him, with feelings and thoughts that were just so different than any of the people standing in front of him. Different than even when he caught a taste of other subjects' emotions at Blackwing. Where was it coming from?

Martin barely listened as Riggins introduced himself and then the teen, instead focused on following the scent. He vaguely heard Riggins call after him once, snapping his name the second time and a hand landed on his shoulder. "Where do you think you're going going?"

He blinked hard as he realized his feet had been carrying him. All eyes were on him, but then shifted past him and the mom stepped forward. "Honey, I thought you were sleeping."

Martin turned to see another teen about his age that he could only assume was Gripps. He looked a little bleary-eyed, like he'd been woken up and drawn into the room just as surely as Martin was being pushed to find him. They stood there a moment, both frozen in place, and Martin was hit with a strange sensation. Like they were two pieces that were suddenly coming together. They didn't just fit, but were snapping together like a magnet, inherently drawn together in a way that made them more whole than they had been before. He'd never felt anything like it. As they stood there, there was a connection made. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it, like he'd known the other boy his whole life, yet he'd never laid eyes on him before. It was a rightness and belonging like Martin had never really known before that moment, but somehow he was certain that it was unbreakable.

All of a sudden the other teen moved forward and Martin found himself enveloped in a full-on hug. He stood very still for a beat, the rare physical contact from someone that wasn't looking to run yet another test on him strange but not unwelcome, and a soft huff left him that might have been a chuckle as he wrapped an arm around the other.

"Been kinda lonely," Gripps said.

"Yeah."

Gripps finally released him and grinned. "Not anymore."

"Not anymore," Martin swore. "Not ever again."

* * *

Notes: So, I actually expected this to be much longer, but once I got to the actual meeting, I thought that adding anything after that might take away, so it looks like Martin will be stuck in his suit for a couple of chapter. Poor kid.

Major, major, MAJOR thanks to SetMeAtopThePyre for looking over pieces of this chapter for me and helping me work out some of the kinks in the first Rowdy 3 meeting. The magnet analogy was something that she came up with and was kind enough to let me use to help try to put their first moments with their link into words.

We now have two of our Rowdy 3 and I'm so excited for that XD


	6. Separated

**Separated**

There had been a few times in the past year that Martin had been locked in the Blackwing facility that he thought he might lose his mind. It was the quiet and the isolation that got him. That overwhelming feeling that he might never see another soul, never hear another sound again. That he was just going to be lost in the void of his own mind, locked away.

In the moment that he'd met Gripps, Martin realized that he never had to feel that way again. It was the moment that Blackwing separated them that made it abundantly clear that it wasn't up to him.

Martin paced his room, back and forth across the longest open stretch at the end of his bed. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the suit he hated so much. He had just tossed the jacket aside, rolled up the sleeves, and kicked the stiff shoes off to the corner. He paced and paced and paced, checking the door at one point and then again an hour later like it would do anything. Still locked.

Riggins had been fascinated by the reaction that the two teens had had to each other and the flight back to the base was filled with questions. Gripps had been nervous, but Martin had promised to watch after him. He couldn't do that from here. He couldn't protect his new brother - and that was exactly what he was now, there was no question about that - if he wasn't with him. He didn't like the idea of Blackwing trying to make Gripps another Reid: have Martin help them and then he ne we would see him again. Martin didn't think he could handle that.

All at once he slammed a fist against the door hard enough to rattle it. He took a deep breath, inhaling the distant scent tinged with fear and distrust. No. This wasn't right. He slammed again, harder this time. Riggins couldn't just use him and then tuck him away. He wasn't going to let him.

It took a while, but the door finally slid open, revealing guards rather than Riggins. Martin opened his mouth to make his demand, but before he could they were rushing him, taking him to the floor. He hit hard, feeling the back of his head bounce off of it, and the agitation he'd given into immediately shifted into the instinct to fight.

He kicked out, catching one of the guards that was trying to lean over him square in the jaw and he saw one of then approaching with a needle of some sort.

No no no no no no. This wasn't happening. All he wanted was to see his brother.

The guard froze as Martin pulled energy from him. He'd never used feeding as a weapon before. Had never felt like he had to, but right then it was his only option with the way they were pinning him down.

He felt the sharp prick of the needle from the opposite side, though, some kind of icy cold liquid that _hurt_ flooding his veins, and everything went black.

* * *

He came back around slowly. His head was killing him and he felt like they must have just kept pumping him full of whatever drug they'd used to knock him out.

Hushed voices filled the room and Martin strained to focus.

"You _never_ use that kind of force on one of my subjects unless ordered, do you hear me, soldier?"

"You didn't see him, sir. He could have killed us. We've never seen him like that."

There was a pause and Martin forced his his eyes open, worried that he was drifting off again.

"You were there ready to do exactly what you did, and I can only assume Priest gave the order. Looks like his work. Have him wait for me in my office."

Martin heard the sound like the door sliding opened and shut and he shifted, finding himself strapped down where he lay. A grunt escaped him as he pulled harder and suddenly Riggins was in his line of sight. "Easy, Martin. Easy. You've had a rough day, son."

"I'm not your son," the blond bit out, the rage returning.

Riggins looked a little startled, but his expression evened out almost immediately as he moved to undo the restraints. "Talk to me, Martin. What happened?"

"Why don'tcha ask your goons?"

The older man sighed. "I would like to hear your side."

Martin snorted as he sat up, feeling his world spin just a little. "You took 'im."

"Gripps?"

"Yeah."

"He's just going through the same introduction protocol that you did when you came in."

"We shouldn't be apart."

"And why's that?"

Martin shot him a glare. "You know why. You're the one always sayin' it happens for a reason. We're supposed to be around each other. We're… I don't know."

Riggins nodded slowly. "There is certainly something. He's been very agitated since we sent you back to your room. It would seem that this… connection you've formed is causing this."

He knew that tone. Riggins wanted to study it. Fine. Let him. As long as he didn't keep them apart. "So now what?"

"Now we figure it out what it means. I don't want to make this any more difficult on you both than it needs to be, Martin. You know I don't. We have rooms that can house two. We'll set one up and see if that makes things more manageable. How does that sound?"

He didn't want to make it difficult? That was a laugh. This experiment had been nothing but difficult since he'd come, but Martin would take what he could get. If he could be reunited with his brother, he'd take what he could get.

* * *

Notes: Apparently Blackwing has given Martin some trust issues when they lock him away. Not sure I blame him though.


	7. Midnight Escapades

**Midnight Escapades**

He'd been trying to sleep for for over an hour, but some nights it just didn't come. He was near twitching status by the time he felt a small tug at his mind before a kick from below that jolted his mattress up. "Hey Martin? You awake?"

"You know I am," he huffed from the top bunk.

"You bored as I am?"

Martin's lips quirked just a little. "You know I am." He leaned over the edge of the bed. "You got an idea?"

Gripps grinned from his bed. "Wanna go explore?"

"Oh yeah." Martin flipped off the top bunk and landed, bare feet nearly silent on the hard floor. He moved to the door, pressing his fingers against it and reached. It was something he'd been working on the last few months that he and Gripps had been sharing living quarters. They went through testing every day in the labs, but every now and again they found a way to use some of the things they learned for themselves.

He could sense the movement in the hall. Guards tasked with keeping subjects locked away all night long. They weren't allowed to roam the halls, and that's what made it fun. They got a little further every time and had only been caught once.

It had been halfway by accident that they had found out that the excess energy that buzzed around them had a tendency to blow the video feeds and sometimes the lights when they really got revved up, and they'd left one of the labs completely trashed a few weeks before. Riggins couldn't prove a damn thing, but security had been increased on their wing.

"Are they there? Are they out there, Martin?" Gripps chirped in his ear and the the blond growled lowly.

They were irritated and tired. That would make them sloppy.

"Get ready," he grunted and heard Gripps loose an almost giggle as he stepped back, eyes closed as he focused. "Now."

Gripps lifted up, jolting the door just right and it disconnected the lock. It was a short circuit or something in the system that they'd found entirely by accident, but it'd proven useful.

They slipped out into the hall completely in sync with each other's movements. They had figured out quickly that words weren't always needed. Whatever link they'd formed opened them up to read the other's intentions and feelings. They were still trying to find a way to express that they couldn't actually read each other's thoughts, per se, so that the scientists in Blackwing would believe them. It hadn't worked so far and they were trying to find new ways each and every day to _make_ it work. They always wanted to make things work, even if they didn't.

It took a little longer than usual to slip out of their wing, but it was worth it. They reached a fork in the hall and Martin stopped. A quick glance communicated between them and they chose left. They hadn't been left yet. Why not?

The hall was darker than the others and quiet. Both teens slowed, their enthusiasm dampened as Martin inhaled deeply and with the air came a warning: danger.

Gripps inched closer and they both moved with a little more caution than before, neither willing to give up the adventure for the night. "What's down there?" he finally whispered, voice so quiet even Martin had trouble hearing it.

"Somethin' bad," the older teen answered. It was a sense that was developing. He was still trying to hone it so that he could tell what the danger was. When there was potential danger around every corner it was hard to decipher.

They continued forward, the smell of danger in the air stronger the further they moved, and Martin wasn't sure if Gripps smelled it too or was just picking up on his building anxiety. He wasn't willing to give though. Not yet. What was life without a little risk?

The scent in the air shifted the deeper they went and Martin glanced up as a light went out above them. He winced, but he could still feel Gripps at his side and they continued on.

It was musty and old smelling, like something that had been there for ages, which seemed difficult to believe. As far as Martin was aware he was one of the earlier subjects brought into the facility, and he'd been there around two years at this point. Whatever was giving off that smell couldn't have been there long enough to develop it there.

"Martin?"

The blond turned, dragged from his thoughts to find Gripps motioning to a large window in the wall. It looked like one of the one-way windows that Blackwing scientists used during the tests, and both teens moved so that their faces were almost pressed against the glass to see in.

The scent spiked, causing Martin to cough, and suddenly there was a face in the window staring back at them. Gripps gave a startled cry and Martin leapt back. The man in the window stared at them, his expression blank. He was old, his hair grey and his skin wrinkled, and Martin was sure the scent was coming from him now. It had to be. He just wasn't sure if it was a Bad Thing to run towards or away from yet.

"Project Moloch," Gripps read from the door.

The old man hadn't even blinked since he appeared, but he was watching the two in his hallway. Martin felt the air shift, like something reaching for him, and his breath caught for just a moment.

"Hey! You two aren't supposed to be down here!"

Martin and Gripps turned to the end of the hall where a guard was flashing a light at them, bright against the dark hallway. A quick glance back to the window showed that Moloch had disappeared again, almost like he hadn't been there at all.

"How'd you two get out?"

Blue eyes met brown and both teens smirked. They'd been caught, so they might as well make it worth it.

They ran circles around the poor guard, Gripps shouting at him and Martin dodged an electrified baton once before grabbing onto it and grinning as the guard saw it had little to no effect. The man sputtered and they left him in a heap on the floor, never quite feeding, but the whiffs of fear and confusion helped to offset the strangeness that had been drifting from Moloch's room and their laughter echoed through the halls as they continued their exploration.

* * *

Notes: I've had so much fun exploring their powers like this. Couldn't you just imagine these two terrorizing the night staff?


	8. Not the Way it Works

**Not the Way it Works**

He felt like he was drowning. Maybe he would. Maybe they were done with him and this was how it ended. Choking in water that shouldn't be filling his lungs and screaming into the black nothingness around him. He couldn't move, couldn't hear the howls of desperation that he was certain _should_ have been louder than they were.

The day had started relatively normal. Riggins was away dealing with some bureaucrat or another. Martin thought he'd told him, but it wasn't like he listened to things like that too closely anyway. It was much more interesting to Riggins than it was to him. All he heard was that the taskmaster would be gone, so the testing should have been fairly basic. He had thought it would be. Boring, but basic. The plan had been to give them enough hell, and make it too difficult to get anything from them so that they would just lock them back in their room and be done with it. Maybe Martin and Gripps could even play their chess game without five scientists demanding to know what move the other had planned. They weren't psychics. Their link didn't let them read each other's thoughts. There were no words. Emotions, sure, but no actual words or visions of what the other might do. That's not how it worked. They'd told them that more times than either had continued to count.

The scientists on duty that day hadn't liked their plan, so they had tried something new. Apparently new meant submerging him in a sensory deprivation tank to see if that "opened up his senses." He was going to kill them if he got ahold of them. That was if he didn't drown first because who needed oxygen to breathe anyway? What they were trying to figure out with that one he had no idea. They hadn't been nearly as interested in explaining themselves as Riggins was.

Martin finally felt himself being hauled out of the water, gasping and sputtering for a breath of actual air. He felt hands on him and he fought hard, blinking the water out of his eyes and found his vision still blurred without his glasses.

"Don't make it harder than you already have," a gruff voice of one of the scientists that he'd never liked growled at him. "Focus. What do you hear?"

"An idiot chirpin' in my ear," Martin snarled back and slammed his head to the side hard. He made contact and heard the satisfying crack of cartilage breaking and a sharp cry of pain that brought a smirk to his lips. Anger flooded towards him and he grinned.

Hands took hold of his collar and his shoulders, holding him still and he weighed his options. Feeding off of them would gain him temporary freedom, but it would likely cause them more pain in the long run. He was just… tired. Tired of the pointless tests, of the way that he was expected to just go along with anything and everything. He hadn't seen his mother in nearly three years now. They hadn't even let him talk to her. He was just supposed to trust them. Days like that one made him tired of trusting them.

"Put him back in," the scientist growled, hand over his bleeding nose. "This is in your best interest to make it _work_ , Martin."

"Not my choice, asshole," he snapped. "I'm not a damn psychic and I can't hear what Gripps is thinkin', man!"

"Maybe not, but we need results, and my guess is you can be loud enough for _him_ to hear _you_."

The meaning behind his words clicked and Martin was being shoved back into the tank, water closing over his head as he sank lower and lower into the inky depths. He hated the dark. He hated the silence. He hated not being able to breathe and things pulsing around.

His lungs started to burn again and he struggled against the restraints. They didn't pull him up this time and he thought he heard someone calling his name as the nothingness faded, and he wondered if maybe they'd been right after all.

* * *

Martin came to with a jolt and found himself lying on the bottom bunk in his own room. Gripps stood from where he'd been sitting next to the bed, worry etched into his features. "I thought they'd killed you!"

His throat felt raw, like he'd been screaming. Or coughing up lungs full of water. Martin winced as he eased himself up just a little. "Not yet," he managed.

"They've never gone that far."

"No."

"Why now?"

"Don't know. Guess we're not giving them the answers they want." He loosed a painful breath and coughed, pulling his knees up to lean against them.

"I shouldn'ta given them what I did," Gripps murmured, eyes downcast and Martin shot him a confused look. His brother looked up again. "Everything just went dark. Couldn't feel you. Couldn't sense you. I just-"

"S'okay, Gripps," Martin grunted. "I'm okay. Just knocked me out is all."

"They know I knew though."

The fear off his brother was strong and Martin felt his rage returning. Riggins had always promise that any extreme measures would be to help them. No matter how it was twisted, this didn't help him and Gripps. Just Blackwing. "Let 'em. They win this one."

"We gonna make 'em regret it?" Gripps asked, his expression slowly shifting to a hopeful smile.

"Oh yeah."

* * *

Notes:

So, the next few chapters will actually be an arc that I've been looking forward to for a while: the boys meeting Cross. He won't show up for several chapters yet, but we're getting there and I'm crazy excited for it XD


	9. Joyride

**Joyride**

Things evened back out when Riggins came back to the facility. He spoke with Martin, explaining in his calm manner that his superiors were looking for things that he couldn't give yet. Things were moving slower than he'd anticipated. That was okay, but it made some more nervous in their organization and it had gotten out of hand. There were safer ways to conduct the experiment that they'd been going for. Nearly drowning Martin hadn't been cleared with him, and Riggins swore it wouldn't happen again.

Martin had pushed for more information. What were they looking for? Why didn't they believe them when they told them their limits? None of his questions returned answers that made sense. They weren't lies, but maybe half truths that left out important information. It was the same runaround he'd been getting for three years now and he had hit his limit.

That's what had brought them to Riggins' office in the middle of the night, risking a serious reprimand compared to any of their other trips through the halls after hours. It was worth it.

Martin and Gripps rifled through files until they found one with the same symbol stitched into their jumpsuits and on their door. Project Incubus. That was them.

Gripps was right over his shoulder, buzzing with anticipation as Martin skimmed the file. It listed out both known abilities and theories that they had about possible abilities. Apparently they were classified as vampires. Weird, and kind of cool. That hadn't been something Riggins had mentioned before, but. a couple of the offhanded comments some of the scientists had made were a little clearer now. He saw medical history and birth dates - somewhere in all the chaos he'd completely missed his nineteenth birthday - and….

"What'dya find?"

"Where they transferred my mom," Martin breathed. "Riggins never would tell me."

"Probably thought you'd steal a car and go for a joyride," Gripps chuckled and Martin tilted his head. There was an idea.

"We do have the address," he murmured thoughtfully. "And we're both over eighteen now. Can't force us to stay." And it'd show Riggins. He'd left them to the vultures to be picked apart without anything in return. He'd promised a two way street, and Martin had been patient. He'd been too patient. It was time to push back in earnest.

"Can you drive?" Gripps asked.

Martin smirked. "Yeah." He tore the page with his mother's address from the file and tossed the rest of it back on the desk, eyeing the prestige office. "Think we should leave Riggins a goodbye note?"

Gripps grinned like a maniac and the two made quick work of the office. By the time they were done there wasn't a file draw intact, not a book left in the shelves, and they'd even managed to turn the giant mahogany desk up on its end with all the drawers turned out.

They strode out of the office with bubbling excitement and one glance up to the security camera showed they had managed to get it back online from where it had blown before they'd gone in. Martin flashed a devilish grin, flipped it off, and heard it pop again.

They had never tried to sneak out of the facility itself before. They'd been to all corners of the inside by now, which meant they at least knew the weak points to slip out through.

They stopped by the employee locker rooms to steal clothes - Martin was pretty sure that their insignia-bearing white jumpsuits would be a dead giveaway that would send them right back to where they started - before slipping towards the exits.

It was stop and go, Martin working hard to contain his own excitement enough to focus on making sure they didn't get caught. They had one close call with a night guard that had never been fond of them and both teens had stood with their backs pressed against the wall as she had flashed her light up and down the corridor, finally moving in the opposite direction after what had felt like an eternity. By the time that they made it to the garage and found a vehicle with the keys in the visor the sun was starting to show over the horizon.

They made it out of the garage and off the property without incident. Martin hadn't realized he was holding his breath until they crossed the last exit point and he and Gripps both burst out laughing. They cranked the windows down on their stolen truck, and he reached for the radio dial to find the rock station. Music poured out, hard and loud and filling every inch of the cabin as he pressed down in the accelerator, throwing his head back and letting loose a howl along with the music. They were free.

* * *

Notes: The boys' idea of a good evening: trashing Riggins' office and stealing someone's car. Run Rowdies run! And Martin **finally** gets his music XD

I'm really excited for this little arc. Not only is it leading up to Cross' introduction into the pack, but the awesome SetMeAtopThePyer is in the process of writing the Rowdy 3 meeting from Cross' POV (since we're sort of limited to Martin's in this story, since Martin's telling the story to Amanda). I can't even tell you how excited I am for that. :D

I'll make sure to link it to the chapters that they'll correspond with when the time comes.

Hope you guys are enjoying this story as much as I am enjoying writing it.


	10. In Control

**In Control**

They drove and drove, blaring music and flying down old stretches of highway like they didn't have a care in the world. They were pumped up, hollering and howling out the windows at any cars they passed and between those Martin tapped his hands against the wheel to the beat of the music. It had been so long he'd almost forgotten. Blackwing had a way of sucking everything that was _you_ away and leaving only what they wanted, but no more. He was done with that shit and he'd prove to Riggins that Blackwing couldn't hold them down. If they went back it'd be on their terms. No more hellish experiments. Two way streets only. Just like Riggins had promised three years before.

There was no stopping unless they needed to fill the gas tank. Martin quickly found that he could sense a cop car waiting to pull them over for speeding long before they came into range and eased his foot off the accelerator long enough to get past them, only to speed up once they were out of range again. He shaved hours off their trip as they drove straight through the night, the radio never silent.

The truck shook with the base, almost growling as they pulled up to the address they'd stolen from Riggins' office. They piled out, excitable energy rolling off in waves as they tried to pull it together to walk in and be at least somewhat inconspicuous. They didn't want to get kicked out before they had a chance to see her.

Martin pushed the front door open and stepped through, hit immediately with the sanitary smell of a hospital. It was off putting and he sneezed against it, rubbing at his nose as he looked around to find people moving slowly around the main room, all with help of some sort. The reality hit him of just what this place was. His mother hadn't gotten better with time as he'd hoped. If any of these people were something to go off of, she might have gotten worse.

"Young man, can I help you?" a nurse called from the desk and Martin pulled in a breath. He was there for a reason, and that reason mattered more than any bundle of nerves ever could. He hadn't seen his mother in three years. She must have thought that he forgot about her. He swallowed hard, walked up, and gave the nurse his name and then his mother's.

Martin watched as the nurse's expression closed off, but her emotions filled the air around her. Confusion melted into something like sympathy? He wasn't sure about that one. He wasn't used to that taste. "Honey, we sent word to the person listed as her contact. He was supposed to…. I don't know how to tell you this, but she passed not long after coming here. It was a stroke. It killed her almost instantly. She didn't suffer."

Blue eyes stared vacantly at the fumbling nurse, as their owner tried to process the words. He couldn't. They wouldn't work through the raging mental screaming battering around his head. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be dead. Riggins had said…

"Thanks," he heard Gripps say distantly and his brother took hold of his arm, fingers gripping the inner handful of the material on his jacket to make sure he didn't squirm away as he lead him out. Martin could feel the mental tug as well, a pleading to keep calm and just let them get back out to the truck.

He didn't make it to the truck. Instead he felt his insides turn and he barely made it to the bushes before he heaved into them. He'd killed her. He'd killed his mother and Riggins… Riggins had lied to him about it. He wasn't sure how to process it.

A small nudge came from behind and then the physical touch on his back. "Martin? You okay?"

"He lied," Martin managed around another painful cough, lifting a shaking hand to his lips. "Riggins has been… He told me she survived. He told me…" He squeezed his eyes closed and ripped his glasses from his face as he felt something wet slip down his cheek. He wiped the evidence away angrily and cleared his throat in the wake of a growl. Behind him he heard the lamppost make a loud popping sound and glass fell down to the sidewalk as the bulb exploded with the excess energy buzzing around him. A ways away another one had the same reaction. "He's been lying to me almost as long as I've been there. He knew I'd try to leave. He knew I'd never stay. He…."

"We're not going back," Gripps said quietly. It wasn't a question, just an acknowledgement. Reassurance.

Martin nodded weakly and crouched down on the sidewalk, not wanting to risk standing. He rocked back on his heels, glasses held loosely in one hand and his elbows propped against his bent knees. He felt betrayed, empty, like he needed time to reevaluate nearly everything from the last three years of his life. It hurt deeper than he cared to admit.

"What now?" Gripps asked quietly.

"Now…" The blond swallowed hard. "Now we take control. Riggins don't control us anymore." He loosed a long breath, low and dangerous to anyone that might have passed by. "And I need a drink."

* * *

Hours and a lot of cheap whiskey later Martin stood staring at an old, dirty mirror in a cheap motel room that they'd managed to get. He was sporting a new - to him, at least - set of dark clothes. Black jeans and a black t-shirt, all full of holes, and a pair of black boots that would have made sixteen-year-old Martin very jealous. Most of his platinum blond hair had been shaved off and was on the floor and in the sink, only a line down the center remaining. He ran his hand across the short mohawk, feeling his hair prickle the palm of his hand. He tilted his head just a little to the side, touching his neck to inspect the red and irritated skin that surrounded the black lettering. _In Control_. "Where'd ya learn to tattoo?" he asked and Gripps grinned at him, something in him remembering that maybe he should have asked that before he'd let the other teen put ink into his skin.

"An uncle of mine did it. He used to show me all of his ink and one time he showed me how."

Martin's long fingers ghosted over the letters. He'd been pleasantly surprised how well it had turned out for as drunk as they had been and as few real tools as they had for it. Not that he hadn't had utter faith in his brother. Complete and utter faith.

"You look like you."

"Huh?" he asked, looking back at Gripps who was lounging on the bed.

His brother shrugged. "Dunno. You always looked… not like you should. I don't know how to say it. You look more like you now."

Martin looked back to the mirror again. He wasn't wrong. He looked and even felt more like himself than he had in a long time now.

"So what's the plan?"

"Don't need one," Martin muttered, tilting his chin up. "We're in control now."

* * *

Notes: I've had this chapter planned from pretty early on in the story but it still broke my heart into a thousand pieces. I just want to hug on Martin some after this one. I did have a blast in getting him a couple steps closer to the Martin we know today though, especially with the hair and his first tattoo ;)


	11. Three

**Three**

Neither of them knew what town they were in, only that they'd found a bar that didn't need or care about a card to let them in to drink. The party was raging, energy flowing as freely as the booze and Martin felt it fill him up. It was easier now than when he'd been younger. He hadn't known how to feed off of the excess so that it did anything more than keep him from completely starving to death. It wasn't that he and Gripps wouldn't need to actually feed sooner or later, but they'd figure that out when they got there. For now, this was perfect.

Music surrounded them, a band playing live from the stage, and Martin tilted back his plastic cup to swallow the last contents before turning to start for the bar for a refill. He bounced to the music and made it halfway there before slamming to a stop, a smell hitting him as hard as a fist to the face. Fear mixed with anger. Not the typical kind though, like from someone normal. His blue gaze swept the busy room, zeroing in on Gripps. He was fine, happily drinking and bobbing to the music and completely oblivious to the fact that the gorgeous woman drinking with him was trying to flirt. The emotions hadn't come from him over their link, so who?

Then he saw it. A group was surrounding a scrawny, angry kid. He was all dark hair and tan skin, snarling at one of the guys as he was pushed to the other side of the circle and was almost immediately shoved back. He lost his footing as one of the leather clad bullies hauled him up by the front of his jacket and Martin realized his feet had carried him over to the whole scene while he'd been focused in. "Hey," he growled and as the man abusing the kid turned Martin swung, knocking him hard in the jaw.

He felt Gripps react immediately, moving to join what was about to escalate. Martin dodged back as the guy he'd just punched tried to return the favour and grinned as the others looked like they were going to jump him at once. "You wanna hurt somebody?" he asked them, teeth bared in an excitable growl. "Me too. Let's go."

Several lunged at him and Martin felt a rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins. One guy took him off his feet, but he used the momentum to roll back, his knees pulled up so that he got a heavy boot between one attacker and himself and propelled him on over the rest of the way. He rocked back, jumping to his feet, and Gripps already had a broken chair for a weapon.

The kid was already back in the mix, fighting with better odds now that it wasn't five on one. He dodged and rolled and Martin couldn't help but feel something strange tugging at the back of his mind. He ignored it as best as he could, focusing instead on the man that could have easily been twice his weight and a good six inches taller than his own six foot. He looked up, tilted his head a little to the side, and took a swing. The punch landed, but it didn't do a lot of good, and the man grabbed him by the collar of his t-shirt and hauled him into a table hard enough to break it. Martin lay there for half a beat, stunned, before a laugh escaped him and he exploded to his feet, grabbing one of the broken legs of the table, and ready for another round.

Martin swung hard, landing the hit against the man's arm as he tried to shield his face and he howled in pain, anger laced with confusion and a little bit of fear sluffing off of him and Martin soaked it up and swung again.

This helped more than he knew it could. Every day since they'd driven away from the home that his mother had supposedly been kept in Martin had felt Gripps tugging at him, hoping that he'd share the burden. He hadn't. He wouldn't. There were a lot of things they shared. They were brothers, after all, and family shared a lot, but this… the pain of killing his own mother was his own and no one was going to be able to take that for him. Beating the hell out of a guy that had been ready to pummel a kid was helping though.

A quick glance to the side showed that the kid was still holding his own though. He just needed some backup was all. A sharp pull at him caused him to look the other way and he saw Gripps motioning to where several others had joined. "Ten more. Seems about right," Martin chuckled and Gripps grinned at him and the two jumped in together.

They battered around, dodging and tossing men between them. Their laughter echoed as Gripps sent one guy stumbling and Martin leap frogged over him, slamming his head hard into the floor and he thought he even saw a tooth go sliding across. The blond lost his footing, though, and stumbled back against one of the few tables in the corner still intact. He saw the man rushing him, but he was caught before he ever reached him with a bar stool leg to the middle, knocking the wind out of him and sending him hard to the floor. It should have been Gripps, ready to react to their link to help protect Martin just as surely as his brother would have done the same for him, but instead Martin saw the dark haired kid that had been the center of the whole scuffle standing there, twirling the chunk of wood smugly, and the kid looked up with a shit eating grin. Martin blinked hard, his breath caught short with a strange jolt, and he saw the teenager's expression shift to utter confusion.

There wasn't time.

"Watch your back!" Martin yelled, but he was still too far away.

The kid turned, eyes wide, and he was taken down to the floor by his attacker. He landed hard, the larger man on top of him, but then there was a buzz of energy that Martin knew well. It was subtle, but at just the right angle Martin could see the blue tinge of energy flowing from the man towards the kid. He was like them. He was feeding off the man.

In a smooth motion Martin leaned over and hauled the man away, the kid immediately cutting off the flow. He was dazed, but not hurt, and Martin tossed him aside like a ragdoll. "C'mon. Cop's are here."

"Shit," the kid swore and accepted the hand up. "You saw-"

"Outside," Martin growled and he gave a sharp whistle, bringing Gripps to their side.

The entire bar was in chaos by then. The band had stopped playing and no one knew who was fighting who. Tables were in shambles, chairs everywhere and in pieces, and Martin and Gripps were all but hauling the kid out between them as subtly as they knew how. They landed in the parking lot of the bar while the police were going through the front. They rounded the corner into the back alleyway before all three stopped, breathing hard and laughing together. Martin pulled a pack of cigarettes out and found one that was, miraculously, not broken from the fight. He put it between his lips and lit it, pulling the smoke deep into his lungs and exhaling through his nose. That was the rush he needed.

"Did you see 'em?" the kid asked, pointing back in the direction that they came. "Did you see their faces? Yo, did you headbutt that guy, man? Did you really?"

Gripps' grin took over his face. "I didn't like 'im," he answered with a casual shrug, but he glanced at Martin. He felt it too.

"Woh. What the hell?"

So did the kid, apparently. Martin reached out, hand grasping his shoulder to steady him. "It's a little… disorienting at first," he said calmly. "Didn't know it could happen with more 'n just two. What's your name?"

"Cross. I'm Cross. What is this? What the hell is this?"

"It's okay. Easy, Cross. Easy. We gotcha." Martin tilted his head a little. The kid couldn't have been more than fifteen at the most. Younger. Fourteen, maybe. Dark brown eyes stared at him and he forced himself to calm down, hoping it'd help their newest brother. Another brother. He hadn't hoped for one, let alone two. Maybe life wasn't so bad afterall.

Emotions were coming off of him like rockets being fired into the sky. Martin could feel excitement mixing with bursts of confusion, fear, and wonder. Cross looked back at Gripps and then again at Martin. "Who are you guys?"

"I'm Martin. He's Gripps."

"You're like me," Cross breathed. "You're like me."

"Yeah. We are."

"How'd you do that?" Gripps asked. "Only take a little. I mean, you weren't snackin' in there."

"Huh?"

"When you just breathe it in. You took it from him, but not a lot," Martin tried to clarify.

"Breathe it in? I don't know how to do that. How do ya do that?"

"Practice. We'll teach you," Martin promised. Cross was alone. Somehow he just knew it. He had been alone until now, but not anymore. He'd never have to be alone again, and by the expression on his face he knew that too. They were family. Even though they'd just met, they were family.

Martin pulled in a deep breath, and froze, a scent filling him up and sending ice through his veins. "We gotta go."

"Where?" Cross asked.

"He's here."

Gripps tilted his head, picking up on the spike of anxiety and he looked around. "Where?"

" _Who_?" Cross demanded.

"Don't know," Martin admitted softly. "Never seen him. Just smelt him. He's… bad news. Real bad news. Blackwing. We gotta go."

He started towards where they'd parked the truck, but a figure moved in the way of their exit between the buildings. Lights filled up the space behind him, casting him in shadows, but Martin knew. He was the one he'd sensed all through Blackwing. A lurking presence that Project Moloch couldn't even top. He'd never had a name for him, just a fear and a knowledge that they should never, never meet him.

The man stepped forward and into the light of the alleyway. "Hello, Martin. Gripps. My name is Mr Priest. I've come to take you home."

* * *

Notes: Who got to write two back to back action packed chapters? This gal did!

Gotta love the Rowdy 3 getting into scuffles, though one against Priest may be less entertaining. By might be, I mean definitely.

Also, this is the first chapter that SetMeAtopThePyre has written a version from Cross' POV. Check it out on her AO3 account!


	12. Priest

**Priest**

Priest. The smell had a name. That terrible, suffocating stench that turned Martin's insides upside down so he thought he might hurl was named Priest. He'd never had a lot of luck with priests before, why should he start now?

"Go," he growled lowly, the word meant for Cross, and he flicked his cigarette to the ground, sending it sparking as the embers scattered.

The kid stood and stared at the man blocking their exit that they'd meant to take. "But-"

" _Get_ ," Martin snarled and Cross jumped a little before stepping back towards the shadows, but Blackwing personnel had already filled in the gaps there as well. The growl remained low in his throat as he saw Priest's eyes follow him.

"Well that is interesting," he drawled, the last word leaving his lips syllable by syllable.

Martin squared his shoulders and took a purposeful step between the Blackwing owned bounty hunter and their newest brother, feeling Gripps shift to do the same. No way they were going to let him get Cross. No way.

A rough chuckle left Priest. "Riggins said you were somethin' else. He didn't think I could find you, much less bring you in with my methods. Looks like I get a three for two special."

The lights hanging over the alley flickered before finally surging and one popped as Martin snarled and Gripps was bouncing on his heels next to him, grinning and ready. He still had part of a stool from the bar fight in his hand.

Cross was right behind them, buzzing with energy and mumbling just a little under his breath. Martin found himself smiling at the kid's determination. He had no way to know what they were facing, but that wasn't going to stop him. As soon as the link had clicked into place they were family and any one of them would have died for the other. How long they had known one brother over the other didn't even make it into the equation.

Then it all exploded at once. Priest motioned and his people flooded the alley. Martin, Gripps, and Cross jumped into action, rushing to meet them, howls and laughter of excitement filling the night air.

Martin met two at once, dodging and moving with ease. His grin didn't fade as he used one against the other, watching them get tangled up without him having to expend a great deal of energy to make it happen. He turned just in time to see Cross brandishing a tire iron he'd picked up somewhere and grinning like he was enjoying himself.

Another soldier came swinging an electrified baton and Martin rolled his eyes. "Don't you people read the files you keep?" he demanded, grabbing onto the baton to pull the man closer in and he head butted him hard enough to send the other crashing back and down.

He felt a tug on the link and looked around to see Gripps and Cross toying with one of Priest's men between them. They had the guy so turned around that he didn't know which way was up and as another tried to rush Martin from behind he sidestepped and shoved him into the newly formed circle. They passed them around, eventually adding a third and none of them lost step. It was fun, and easy to be distracted from the stench of danger that still hung on Priest's presence there.

"Let's rush him," Cross said excitably, and he must have picked up on something from Martin.

"No." He wanted to with every fiber of his being, but something deep inside was screaming that it would be the last mistake they would make. Priest was dangerous. More dangerous than the men that he'd sent after them. No, they needed to find an exit before Priest decided they'd battered enough of his people to step in himself.

Martin caught a whiff from a different direction and turned. Priest wasn't where he had been and panic shot through him. Blue eyes scanned the alley and he saw Blackwing's hunter stalking down their newest brother. Cross didn't know to be afraid yet, didn't know not to face him.

The kid's name left his lips, but was cut short as he felt Gripps' emotions spike. Martin saw him surrounded by soldiers, maybe too many for even Gripps to fight, but he was giving it his all. If Martin could distract Priest long enough, it could at least give Cross a chance to make it out. He'd be damned if the kid was dragged into Blackwing because of them.

Cross looked ready to scuffle with the Blackwing agent, crowbar in his hand and a snarling grin on his face. Priest looked unconcerned, a strange pack strapped to his back and Martin could see the Incubus symbol stamped on it. He stalked forward, steps quickening, and grabbed Priest by the pack about the time that the gas poured out of the hose he was holding. Cross coughed hard as he stumbled, the fumes throwing him off balance, but it hadn't been a direct hit. He still had a chance, and as Martin spun Priest around by the pack and sent him stumbling away from his youngest brother, a low, vicious growl escaped him. He turned to Cross. "Go."

"I'm not leaving you guys!"

"We'll find you," Martin swore. They belonged together now. They couldn't be apart long. He just needed to make sure he was safe, and that meant handling Priest himself. He turned back to the man, his senses screaming at him, and he lifted one hand so that he was pointing directly at him, gaze locked with his. "You wanna go at my boys, you go through me first."

"Gladly," Priest answered and lifted the hose again as Martin rushed him.

The gas hit hard as the blond breathed it in. It stung, like a thousand tiny pins and needles working their way into his muscles and rendering them useless. He pitched forward and Priest caught him with one hand by the front of his shirt, pulling him in and something pressed just below his ribs. The question didn't even have time to form in his mind before a loud sound echoed through the alley and pain like Martin hadn't felt before hit half a beat later. He gasped against it, eyes wide, and his knees gave way beneath him.

Priest caught him before he fell, pulling him close so he was speaking directly into his ear. "Riggins wants to play so gentle with you boys, but you don't play it that way. The only thing you understand is strength. I need to go through you, Martin? You're not as scary as you'd like me to think you are."

He shoved him back and Martin fell hard against the asphalt, hand moving to the source of the pain. There was blood. A lot of blood.

" _Martin_!"

He wasn't sure if it was Gripps or Cross screaming his name and he choked when he tried to pull air into his lungs to answer. Pain spread, making the world spin and he pushed through the link with his brothers. _Run_. They wouldn't hear the word, but he hoped to everything they'd feel it.

Priest stepped into his line of vision and he was talking to someone else. "Load them up in the van. Sedate them. I'm going after the third."

He'd gotten away then. Cross had gotten away. As darkness hedged his vision, pain dragging him into unconsciousness, at least Martin could find solace in that. Blackwing hadn't gotten all of them.

* * *

Notes: Have I mentioned how much I want to punch Priest in the face? Seriously, Amanda threw that brick for us all.

For those that haven't checked it out yet, you should go to SetMeAtopThePyre's AO3 account to see Cross' POV of what's happening. She has the first chapter up which corresponds with the chapter just before this one, and is currently working on the one linked to this chapter. It's crazy good and you should all go read it!


	13. Prisoners

**Prisoners**

He felt like he was floating, fragmented memories trying to find each other. A fight, angry shouting, fear spiking but not in the way that tasted good. A blond man, hair darker than his own platinum, with a smile that just didn't look right. Didn't feel right.

Blackwing. Priest. Pain. Cross. Gripps. So much pain. A gunshot.

Blue eyes shot open and their owner tried to sit up, ready to continue the fight. A sharp cry echoed through the room and it took him a second to realize it was his as the pain bit through the medication they were pumping through his system. Martin swallowed the moan that followed and he felt the straps around his wrists and ankles that were holding him down to the bed. They'd gotten him. He was back at Blackwing.

He tried to force his mind to focus, but everything was still coming in clips. Priest leaning over him, soldiers hauling him up. The back of a van, every bump in the road they drove on sending him into new agony until the doctors fit something over his mouth and nose, forcing him under. He thought he woke up after that, but those memories were even vaguer. Just pain and confusion.

Martin heard a machine sounding an alarm and suddenly there was a doctor over him, cursing at something and he saw him lift a syringe to an IV that he could only assume was connected to him. "No," he managed to croak out. He didn't want to sleep anymore, no matter how much it hurt, but he couldn't stop them. His wrists were still strapped down. "No," he managed again and caught the doctor's gaze even as the room faded around him.

The next time he opened his eyes he hurt just a little less. He also felt like he was trying to work through a head full of cotton. Everything was fuzzy and dulled. He knew something was wrong, but he wasn't sure what. He started to try to sit up and found he couldn't.

"Easy, Martin. Don't move so much."

He blinked hard, finding someone leaning over him and Scott Riggins came into focus as his glasses were put back on his nose. He was at Blackwing. "What….?"

"You were injured when Blackwing tried to bring you in. Do you remember what happened?"

Memories clicked into place. "Priest shot me."

Riggins frowned. "And you, Gripps, and your new friend put twenty men in the hospital. That's not counting the bar brawl you were coming from or the trail of damages you've left in your wake during your month long adventure." He sighed, disappointment clear on his features and Martin felt his temper flare. Riggins was disappointed. That was rich.

"I'm not sure what you thought you were going to accomplish. I can understand the initial trip, even if it was foolish, but after? You've dug a hole for yourself. Pretty deep. Things are going to change, Martin. There are consequences for your actions."

"Like having your attack dog shoot me?" the blond snapped.

Riggins froze and for just a moment Martin could feel something make it past his usual walls, but it was closed off as quickly as it came, his expression evening out again. "You put him in a real bind, Martin, attacking him like that."

"He attacked us."

"He was bringing you in."

"We weren't comin' back in!" The last word was half swallowed and he sank back against the pillow behind him, feeling spent.

"You need to take it easy, Martin. The doctors have been trying to manage your pain, but like with everything else, your body reacts differently than most. Don't make their jobs any more difficult."

He snorted, waiting for the wave to pass before drawing a breath and he motioned to the restraints. "This how it's gonna be now?"

"Not forever, but there are consequences to what you've done. You stole a car and broke out in the middle of the night-"

"So we're prisoners?"

"Of course not, Martin."

"We ain't here if our own free will. We're over eighteen. You can't keep us."

"They can and they will. You're in real trouble, Martin. People above my head have determined you to be a potential danger to society. I've done what I can, but you're here to stay. How that stay goes will be up to how you respond. I'll do what I can for you, but I need you to trust me when I say-"

"Trust you?" Martin spat. " _Trust_ you? You've done nothin' but lie since the day I met you."

Riggins gave a long-suffering kind of sigh. "I know you're angry. You may even think I've betrayed you by keeping what happened to your mother from you. I haven't. I've protected you, boy, but I can't fight them _and_ you, do you understand?"

"Get out."

"Martin-"

" _Get out_!"

Machines sparked and short circuited around them and Riggins stood, waving doctors off. "Okay," he said, holding a hand out towards him in a motion that was probably supposed to be calming. It only made Martin glare angrily. "Okay. Have it your way. We'll talk when you're feeling better."

"I never wanna see you again, you hear me, old man?" Martin snarled dangerously, but Riggins was already out the door. If he heard him, he had no idea, and he didn't think he had the energy to continue shouting threats and hope they made it down the hall. He was in pain, exhausted, and hungry. Not that any of those things were going to change any time soon. He was a prisoner there, now more than he ever had been before.

* * *

Notes: This chapter did not go the way I had planned, but I think I'm okay with that now that it and several after it have been written.


	14. Changes

**Changes**

Riggins had been right about one thing: it was different now. Martin could feel it in every aspect of their new normal. It was in the way that they had used his injury to test his healing rate if well or under fed, and the way that they didn't seem to care that they were causing him pain with their tests. Guards no longer looked them in the eye as they roughly transported them from their holding cell - their room had been given to someone else and they'd been returned to an upgraded version with a door they couldn't open from the inside and an older bunk bed with thin mattresses - to the labs, which was the only place they were able to go. No one spoke to them, and even instructions were given through a new, automated voice ringing over the loudspeaker. They'd tried to be stubborn at first, but the first day back in tests had left Martin in a heap on the floor.

He was exhausted. Semi regular feeding were the only thing keeping him on his feet for the long days. At least once a day he was separated from Gripps to the medical wing. They didn't seem to mind hurting him, but they didn't want to lose half of their vampiric experiment either.

Riggins hadn't shown his face since Martin had screamed at him to get out, but his smell lingered, filling up Martin's senses and pulling a low growl of irritation every time it did. His fingerprints were all over every experiment, ever order. He'd been a fool to ever trust him. To dare to think he might be a friend.

The only good thing about it was that Cross had gotten away. It left a gaping hole in both remaining brothers, but one either of them would gladly bear if it meant the youngest one's freedom.

"They just gonna leave us in here?" Gripps demanded, not bothering to pause the agitated pacing he'd been doing for the last… Martin didn't know. He'd lost track of the time again and had settled on a mat in the corner to see if maybe he could get some rest. They'd probably blare a horn or something as soon as he did.

He rolled to sit up slowly, feeling the pull of the still-healing wound, and he sucked in a breath to answer. Martin froze, scents working their way through him. There were two that hadn't been there before, mixing together to make it difficult to distinguish. One good, one bad. Very bad.

"What?" Gripps asked and Martin looked up at him.

"Not sure yet."

Then they heard it. It was muffled shouting at first, but it became clearer the closer they got to the door. "No no no _no_! I hate them! No ink! No walls! No more questions! I hate them all! _Hate_ them!"

"Cross," Gripps breathed and lurched forward to slam his fist against a door they both knew wouldn't budge. "Cross!"

The shouting outside went quiet, even as the automated voice sounded. " _Please step back from the door_."

Martin had joined Gripps there now and he could hear their younger brother yelling again, screaming their names. The shouting was silenced after a sharp yelp and the blond knew who the stench belonged to. Anger burned deep and as Gripps continued to wage war on the door he turned his icy blue gaze to the one way window high above them and inhaled, his voice dangerously calm. "I know you're there, Riggins. I can smell you, old man. You let that bastard touch our brother again and I'll take everything out on you he takes out on Cross." No answer came and his temper flared as he sprung towards the middle of the room. "You hear me, Riggins? You think we've caused you trouble? You think we're pains in the ass now? You let Priest hurt the kid and I'll make your life hell! You hear me, Riggins?!"

The only sound that followed was Gripps pounding at the door and then the opening of the vents. Shit. He knew what that meant.

There was a hissing sound as gas filled the room, but Martin refused to break eye contact with where he knew Riggins was standing. He'd make him pay if a Priest hurt one hair in Cross' head. The threat hung in the air even as the gas curled around him and the room faded to black.

* * *

Notes: And now the Rowdy 3 are in Blackwing together.

Fun note, Michael made a comment on Twitter the other day about the order that they came in and apparently I had it right! Glad to know my guess as to the ordering of the straitjackets was correct :)


	15. Warnings

**Warnings**

He woke to mumbling and for a minute he wasn't sure it was even English. Blue eyes cracked open to show the bare holding cell that they were supposed to call a room. Against the far wall sat the too-thin form of Cross, knees bent up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, hugging them close. His lips were moving, a phrase on repeat, but Martin couldn't quite make it out.

The blond forced himself halfway to sitting on his top bunk, drawing the younger teen's attention and the phrase ceased immediately. He could hear Gripps still snoring softly on the bunk under him and Cross' dark eyes locked on him. "Martin."

"Hey," he greeted back softly, the gas they'd knocked him out with making his throat scratchy.

Cross looked down to where his bare feet were bent upwards, heels resting on the hard floor. "I… I didn't know for sure… I mean, I _hoped_ -" Dark eyes flickered up to meet blue. "He shot you."

Martin winced a little as he shifted. "Yeah." The kid looked torn. Heartbroken. The blond tried to soften his expression and ease his own emotions. "You okay? They hurt you?"

Cross shrugged noncommittally and Martin couldn't help but feel like this kid had been through worse than either he or Gripps had before Blackwing. Now he'd have to add that to the list too, and it was their fault. If it weren't for them, Priest never would have-

"It's not your fault," Cross said clearly, pulling himself to his feet.

Martin sat the rest of the way and swung his legs around to dangle off the side of the bunk bed. "We shoulda protected you."

"And I shoulda protected you," the dark haired teen answered.

"Least we're together," Gripps murmured sleepily from the bottom bunk, pulling a small smile from Martin. He eased himself down off the top level, sliding to the floor, and Gripps scooted over to make room for him to sit. Cross joined on instinct, all three reveling in the rightness that came with how close they were.

They had a few minutes of peace, or at least what passed for it in Blackwing, before the locks came undone on the door, signaling someone opening it.

Martin loosed a low growl as the door slid open and he felt Gripps straighten, ready. Cross' curiosity peeked cautiously and he leaned in towards the door. One sniff told Martin exactly who it was.

Scott Riggins waved the guards with him off and stepped inside. None of the boys stood from the bed, even if all three could have been on their feet in an instant. They watched, energy buzzing in the air, and Martin made a point of leaning back against the post. "To what do we owe the honour?" he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Riggins sighed, pulling the single chair toward the bed and taking a seat to face all three of them. "It's just us, boys. No listening devices, no cameras."

"Couldn't keep 'em functioning if you wanted to," Martin pointed out and Gripps chuckled to his right.

The man that Martin had once trusted shook his head, pushing a breath out through his nose. "Here's the drill, boys, and I need you to listen close-"

"Do they pop?" Cross asked excitedly, bouncing a little on the thin mattress. "Pop and sizzle and go out?"

"Lights too sometimes," Gripps said.

"I thought it was just me!"

"Got a whole computer once," Martin added in, doing his best to keep the smirk off his face as he felt Riggins start to to seethe over their antics.

"Just pop and everything went dark for the wing!" Gripps said with a grin. "That shit was crazy nuts!"

"Boys!" Riggins snapped, cutting off Cross' building laugh.

Martin caught his gaze and held it. "Whatcha gonna tell us different this time? New threats for your newest prisoner?"

"I'm not your enemy, Martin. I'm the only one still willing to stick my neck out for you after the stunt you and Gripps pulled." Gripps chuckled and Riggins glared. "Things aren't going to be easy moving forward, but if you keep your heads down and do what you're told, they'll get better."

"Funny how hollow your lies sound."

"I've managed to convince my superiors that you boys will be easier to manage together rather than separated. Don't give them a reason to question me on that. This is serious, Martin."

"Oh, I know that it is," Martin nearly purred, rocking forward and he saw Riggins flinch back ever so slightly and he loosed a low, dangerous growl as he flashed his teeth.

Riggins stiffened in his spot, squaring his shoulders. "You never acted like a petulant child until now, Martin. You think your new haircut and tattoo makes you tough. You're still the boy I know and have known since the day I met you. I will protect you - I will protect _all_ of you - if you let me."

"Like you did from Priest?" Gripps demanded, all humour washed out of his voice.

"You didn't _protect_ us then," Martin joined in, "and you won't protect us now. I will though." He sprang forward and Riggins barely had time to get to his feet where Martin got right in his face. "You or yours touch one hair on mine and I'm gonna show ya just how dangerous I can be."

To his credit, Riggins held his gaze steadily. It was more than anyone that had threatened them outside of Blackwing had been able to do when while they'd been out. Martin was plenty intimidating. He'd found that out quick enough. Get in someone's face, take the upper hand, and snack on the fear and nervousness that resulted. He'd gotten it down to an art quickly enough in their month on the run. He wasn't a scared teenage kid anymore, and he had people he wanted - _needed_ \- to protect. He would put himself between his brothers and Blackwing whenever he needed to. "I ain't scared of you, old man," he snarled when Riggins didn't say anything in return.

Riggins pushed the chair back so he could put a little distance between himself and the angry blond. "It's not me you should be wary of, Martin. Priest is climbing the ranks. You give Blackwing a reason and they'll put him over you rather than me," he answered. "You boys get ready. They'll be in to move rooms before lights out." He didn't wait for any of them to answer before turning and leaving, his threats still hanging in the air.

"Asshole," Cross grumbled from his spot, hugging his knees a little.

"Yeah," Martin huffed.

"We gonna give 'em hell, right Martin?"

Martin's lips curled and he could feel Gripps' laughter before the chuckle escaped. "Yeah.


	16. Nightmares and Family

**Nightmares and Family**

There was a strange spark of loneliness that Martin hadn't felt in several years now. It was sharp like a knife digging into his mind through the layers of sleep and dragging him upwards towards wakefulness.

Blue eyes blinked open in the darkness of the room, finding only the bland ceiling above him. He lay there for a long moment, trying to gain his bearings. He was in the room he shared with his brothers. It was a new one with a little more space now that there were three. The bunk bed was three spaces high now, and as he listened he heard a soft whimpering sound from the middle bunk.

Martin shifted and slowly leaned over the edge of the bed and it took a moment for his eyes to focus to see Cross curled on his side, blankets kicked away, and he had a death grip on the pillow. Fear and loneliness swept out from him in a wave and another soft sound left him and Gripps appeared from the bottom bunk, peeking up. He reached up and tapped the frame of Cross' bed, disrupting the nightmare and causing their new brother to sit up abruptly.

"Easy, Cross," Martin murmured. "You're alright."

"Nightmare?" Gripps asked.

Cross pulled in several deep breaths, his eyes wide, and Martin saw him swallow hard. "Yeah," he managed, voice small.

Gripps frowned just a little. "Wanna talk about it?"

Cross shook his head hard and Martin felt him close off as best as he could, retreating inward and there was that loneliness again. The blond frowned and shifted to the end of his bed, stepping down onto the rungs so that he was off of the mattress and took hold of it. It didn't take long for him to wiggle it free of the frame and he sent the mattress crashing down to the floor. He followed it as Gripps tugged his own free and added the bottom mattress.

"What are you doing?" Cross asked, his voice still softer than sounded right for him.

Martin nodded towards large, makeshift bed they were forming up. "C'mon."

Dark eyes blinked in question before he finally slipped off his bunk and grabbed his own mattress to add.

Gripps had already flopped down, halfway to snoring again and Martin took a seat and squinted at Cross as he stood there uncertainly. "You ain't alone anymore, Cross," he said, his voice strong and certain in that truth.

He felt the walls Cross had jumped behind crumble as he stared at him, realization slowly echoing in his expression as he joined his new brothers on the bed. Gripps immediately slung an arm around him and Martin smiled a little he flopped back with them, the closeness a fresh relief that he felt from the others as well.

After a long moment Cross loosed a long breath. "You guys didn't care," he whispered. "In my nightmare, I mean. I got here and you guys told me there wasn't… room. You didn't-" His voice caught and Martin joined Gripps in holding onto the younger teen, the two older ones providing a safe cocoon for the younger.

"You're our brother. Ain't no question."

"Nope," Gripps agreed. "You're ours. We claimed you."

Martin felt Cross' mood lift and he brought his arms up to hold onto theirs, settling in buried between them. No one said anything more, but they didn't need to. The promise was there as surely as if they'd spoken it out loud. They were family. They belonged together.

* * *

Notes: I apologize if there are any blaring mistakes on this one. Written entirely on my phone, edited on my phone, all while on my road trip that started today. But hey, gotta love the cuddle puddle at the end XD


	17. The Rowdy Three

**The Rowdy Three**

It was the small pleasures that they had to take from life: the guards that they could twist around, the chaos they brought into the facility, and the fact that they were all together. With two of them they had caused a stir, but three took it to a whole new level.

The boys found new ways to slip out of their holding cell at night eventually. They had to get a bit more creative about it from time to time, but there was only so much Blackwing could do to keep them on lockdown. There was something immensely gratifying about proving they could outsmart and outrun any guard at their door and it became a game. They had to pass the time some way.

That particular night they had found their way into what looked like a testing room for children. It was brightly coloured instead of the stark white of most of the walls, with building blocks and little tables for kids to sit at. There were stuffed animals and toys and all sorts of things that just didn't belong in a place like Blackwing.

What was worse, it meant they were keeping kids younger than any of them there.

Martin, Gripps, and Cross tore through the room, scattering toys and flipping tables. Martin found a plastic baseball bat and he and Gripps had a field day slamming the little wiffle balls as hard as they could to see if the object they hit or the plastic ball would break first. They'd broken a few things when Cross called out from the drawers he was turning out.

"Look look _look_!"

Martin looked over and Gripps grinned when the ball smacked him upside the head as he lowered the bat. He shot his brother a playful glare as he scooped it up and hauled it back at him.

"Guys!" Cross bellowed and they both looked over to see he was holding up a jar of red paint. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Martin agreed, the word riding off his breath with an excitable growl.

"I wanna paint a cloud," Gripps said and Cross burst out laughing at him.

"How 'bout we let 'em know we were here?" Martin asked, grabbing one of the biggest brushes he could find. Cross handed over the paint and the blond dunked the brush in, swiping it over the bright yellow wall to form a massive _three_ on it. A few of the guards had called them the Rowdy Three. There was nothing kind about the reference from them, but the boys had liked it and had claimed it as their own.

"I like it!" Cross laughed, bouncing a little.

Martin grinned, pulling in a deep breath and then he stopped suddenly. There were all sorts of smells throughout the facility, but none of them were supposed to be that close. He turned from their handiwork, Gripps and Cross adding to it gleefully, and stalked towards a door that was partially closed. He sniffed hard. Yep. That was the source.

He yanked it open, a snarl bubbling in his throat, but he swallowed it as his gaze fell on the huddling form. He'd half expected it to be a new guard, terrified of facing them alone, but instead he found a little boy no older than ten clutching a teddy bear and burrowed as deeply in the storage closet as he could manage. He looked up, and while his terror smelled sweet enough Martin didn't think he'd become quite the monster yet to revel in the fear of a little child. He crouched down, very still, and tried to keep his voice as gentle as he could manage. "Hey. We ain't gonna hurt ya."

A pair of wide, blue eyes blinked up at him, and their owner clutched his teddy bear tighter. "I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to be out." He had an accent. England maybe? Something like that. He wasn't from there.

"Us neither," Martin answered with a lopsided smirk and he felt his brothers' attention turn to the kid as well.

The boy peeked past him. "What's the three for?"

"The Rowdy Three!" Cross answered.

"That's us," Gripps chimed in.

Martin tilted his head. "Whatcha doin' in here?"

"Mr Riggins took my teddy away because I couldn't answer the computer's question correctly. I can't sleep without him. I get lonely." He held the old, tattered bear up as he spoke and Martin frowned. Riggins really was a bastard.

"What are you anyway?" the little boy asked as he looked at them.

"Ain't that the question?" Martin chuckled, but his attention was pulled towards the main door, his brothers looking the same way.

All at once a grenade leaking out pink gas rolled in, the smoke burning his nose and his throat, sending his senses into overdrive. Martin snarled against it as soldiers flooded in, taking advantage of the confusion the smoke caused and it took four to lift a squirming Cross from his feet as he shouted at them. "Vampires wander at night! Can't keep us caged," he laughed, landing a good kick on one of them and Martin grinned, risking a look back at the wide-eyed little boy.

"Vampires?"

Martin winked before he turned to face the ones coming for him. They'd get put back in their room. That wasn't in question, but they'd give them hell before they got them there.

* * *

Notes: The promised chapter with baby Dirk! I'm still hoping to find a way to work Bart in somehow. I may have to get really creative with that one, because I'm pretty sure I remember her saying that she never met any of the others.


	18. Dancing Monkeys

**Dancing Monkeys**

"I wanna tattoo."

Martin looked over from where he was seated on the floor with Gripps, a chess set between them and a stolen cigarette hanging from his lips. He drew in a deep breath, feeling nicotine mixed with smoke travel down his throat and into his lungs. "Gripps did mine," he offered, smoke curling back out as he released the words. It'd been like winning the damn lottery when he had been able to lift the pack off of the guard and also found a lighter tucked away in it. He'd gotten better at it. They weren't going to deny him every pleasure.

"You think we can get the shit? Assholes won't even let us shave without being watched," Cross griped, circling his fingers and putting them to one eye like he was looking through a peephole.

Martin barked a laugh. "You ain't got nothin' to shave anyway, kid."

Cross offered a glare in return and Martin smirked at him until he gave. "My point is they ain't gonna give us no point objects."

"We'll figure it out," Gripps promised him, moving one of the pieces that had been broken the the last time they'd tried to teach their youngest brother to play. "Whatcha think you want?"

"Dunno yet. Something cool."

"No shit, huh?"

Cross grinned and Martin chuckled, leaning back and stretching his long legs out. They had all spent their younger years alone. If they had to be in this place, at least they had each other. It made things a little easier at least.

The door to their room opened without warning and Riggins strode in, turning to glare at Martin who offered a lazy smile around his still smoking, forbidden cigarette, daring him to say something. He shook his head, frustration rolling off of him in waves. He looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a while now and stress was built up to the point of bursting. Martin would have loved to take credit for it, but even he knew they weren't the sole source.

"Why aren't you three ready?" Riggins demanded.

"We don't take orders from a computer," Gripps answered, moving his chess piece and Martin frowned. Damn him.

"We don't take orders at all," Cross chimed in, flopping over the side of the bunk so he was hanging upside-down.

Riggins massaged the bridge of his nose. "The people here today-"

"Don't care what sort of moneybags politician you got visiting, we're not your dancing monkeys," Martin growled.

"They need proof. Of all the subjects here, what you three can do can be easily seen."

"Not hungry," Martin popped off and grinned toothily as he moved Gripps into checkmate.

A sharp breath left the older man. "Do you remember the first few days you were here, Martin? You were stubborn about what you thought would help and what wouldn't, and I explained then that you would adjust."

"You gonna _help_ us adjust, Riggins?" Martin demanded.

"If need be, yes."

The threat was clear, even if his brothers' confusion reminded him that they hadn't been there for the force feeding. They hadn't been strapped to the table and drained to the point of starvation. Nor would he let them suffer that if he could help it. "Fine."

Riggins nodded sharply. "Be ready. Your escort will be here in ten."

Martin felt two sets of dark eyes on him as the door slid closed and the locks were put into place, questions without words nipping at the edge of his mind. He stood slowly, a deep and frustrated growl leaving him. He had to pick their battles. They'd never survive if he didn't.

* * *

It was degrading to be marched out and put in display like a prized poodle. That's exactly what had happened too, and all three knew it. Riggins and his politician with the purse strings had safely watched them from behind the glass that was too thick to break, not that they hadn't tried. Oh, they had fed, just as promised. Martin wasn't going to let his brothers suffer so Riggins could get his funding, but once they had they had shown exactly what the Rowdy Three were capable of. The room was trashed, and that had felt good, but it was the fact that Martin and the others had nearly broken through the one way window with nothing but a couple of foldup chairs that had him feeling so smug. It wasn't the lack of strength or determination that had kept them from doing it. It was that damned gas. They needed to find a way around that shit.

They'd woken some time ago now, left in the room surrounded by their destruction. They were alone, all a little drained from the gas, but their mood hadn't been dampened. Riggins hadn't won that day. Not fully.

The door unlocked and slid open, Riggins entering in an almost visible cloud of anger and frustration. He was alone, even if guards were posted outside. "What the hell were you boys thinking?" he snarled and his rage was delicious.

"You should be thanking us," Martin answered smugly from his seat on the floor. "Don't military types like a show of power? Didn't he want to see what we can do?"

"You acted like animals!" Riggins snapped and Martin shrugged.

"Don't want us to act like animals, don't cage us like 'em." He plucked his glasses from his nose, briefly thinking about cleaning them and then deciding he didn't care and setting them back in place. He stood slowly, his posture subtly dangerous. "Told you we weren't your monkeys."

"You think you've won today, Martin. You haven't," Riggins said lowly as the blond passed.

"I think we made our point. Don't threaten us." He turned on his heel, making it clear that he was done with the conversation even if Riggins wasn't. The old man thought he hadn't won, but at least Martin was certain they hadn't lost.

* * *

Notes: So, I'm still on cloud nine from last night's episode. That hug? Yes, that hug. I mean, so much more, but really that hug. My shipper heart is _soaring_ right now.


	19. Almost

**Almost**

They heard whispers. Guards that didn't think they were listening, lab techs that didn't think they were focused. People talked, and Martin stored so much of it away to use when he needed it.

One of the newest rumours was that there had been budget cuts for Project Blackwing. They weren't providing results and the government wasn't happy. Up until that point Martin hadn't seen any changes aside from a few new faces where old ones had been, but if the cuts were supposed to come in the form of security or testing equipment, the first signs showed when the security protocol failed

The boys felt the surge before the explosion rocked the hallway they were being escorted down. Martin watched the guards tip off balance and the Rowdy Three weren't ones to pass up an opportunity like that. All three launched into action together, their guards shouting out in confusion as the three energy vampires turned them around and around until they left them even more dazed than before and not one of them steadily on his feet.

Martin, Gripps, and Cross raced down the hallway at top speed. Gripps and Cross were laughing, having a blast with the temporary freedom, and Martin felt the surge from them that nearly brought him in with it, but he had to focus. This could be a chance. He wasn't sure what was going on, but if things fell just right, maybe they could get out of this hellhole. He just needed to focus.

His brothers were bouncing with excitement, knocking down guards left and right. It wouldn't be long until someone got smart and came at them with the gas though. If they could keep attention diverted - something they were already happily doing - maybe he could find a place for them to slip out.

Martin pressed his fingers against a closed door, reaching to feel the pulse of everything happening behind it. It was hard to parse through the screaming fear and terror that ripped through that wing of the facility, but if he had it, that wasn't their way to go.

A sharp whistle drew the other Rowdies and they continued down the hall. Martin's soft boots that they gave him to wear padded on the hard floor and they rounded the corner and into a room full of chaos. He soaked it in, feeling the energy buzz around them and he saw what was causing the ruckus.

There was a man in the center of the room whose eyes were burning like fire. His hand was glowing red hot, flames dancing between his fingers as he squared off against several very nervous looking guards.

"Go," Martin huffed quietly. They didn't belong in the middle of this. It smelled like more trouble than it was worth.

They had almost made it to the door on the other side of the room, had almost made it that much closer to freedom as the human torch took out any opposition, when Martin heard a voice call out and looked back. Scott Riggins stood trying to talk the man down even as he glowed brighter and brighter line he might explode.

The guy was going to blow, Martin realized. As close as Riggins was it would kill him.

He didn't care. He shouldn't care. This was their chance to escape and that was all that should matter. If one of Riggins' new subjects killed him because he'd screwed them over, that was no business if his. He shouldn't care. He didn't care.

"Martin," Cross hissed, pulling of attention. "We gotta go, man!"

It was too late. A deep growl escaped Martin as his hesitation forced his hand and the choice to help or not to was taken from him. The unknown man facing off against Riggins exploded and all three Rowdies fed, the excess energy from the explosion pulled towards them, filling them up and saving them from being burned alive by it.

They couldn't take it all in, though, and their dinner was abruptly cut off as all three were thrown from their feet by the blast. Martin hit the wall hard, slamming down to the floor and feeling his head swim from the impact. He blinked hard and reached for his glasses that had gone flying, setting them on his nose to help the world around him focus just a little.

Gripps and Cross were picking themselves up just a few feet away and Riggins was laid out from the blast as well. The man that had exploded lay in the center of the room, also unconscious.

They had to move.

Martin pushed himself up to his feet and reached to help Cross haul a still-dazed Gripps up. They started for the door they had originally been aiming for and as it slid open gas slammed hard into them. Martin cursed as his body froze and it filled his lungs, plunging him into darkness.

* * *

Notes: This chapter may be pretty short, but the events are about to cause a major shift. Prepare yourself to want to hug them with every chapter. I know I do.


	20. Consequences

**Consequences**

It wasn't often that he needed time alone, but every now and then Martin stepped aside for a few moments to himself. He had been off for days and he knew it, the situation with their would-be escape gnawing at him. They'd had a path. If he hadn't hesitated they might have even made it. Gripps and Cross didn't blame him for it - he would know if they did - but he blamed himself. He'd stopped. For Riggins of all people. He had no excuse.

Martin closed his eyes and pulled the smoke from his cigarette down into his lungs, listening to the sound of his brothers wrecking the room next to him. They were having fun. They deserved to have fun.

The buzz of energy hung in the air, but it mixed with something else and Martin stiffened, turning, and he was halfway to his feet by the time he saw Riggins standing between him and the exit. The older man had his hands raised, bandages still wrapped around one from where he'd been burned days before, and he exhaled softly. "Easy, Martin. I'm not here to fight with you tonight."

The blond took a long drag of his cigarette. Riggins was alone. He wasn't going to try to force them back to their room alone. He would have a chance in the world. "Come to chat?" he drawled sarcastically, settling back into his seat.

"Yes," Riggins answered, his voice serious. "And to thank you."

Martin snorted. "You got lucky and we didn't wanna get burned."

A soft chuckle left the older man as he took a ginger seat next to him and Martin scooted to put a little more distance between them. He watched Riggins suspiciously out of the corner of his eye, the only sound for a long few moments that of Cross and Gripps happily destroying the room next to them.

"I know where you've been getting those," Riggins said finally, motioning to the cigarette. "Paul out of East Wing complains about them going missing every time you boys have blood work done."

"Just try to stop me," Martin growled and Riggins actually laughed.

"You and I both know I can't. It's the lighters you get ahold of I'm more worried about, but I don't think you'd burn the facility down with your… brothers inside."

Martin snorted. He wasn't wrong, but he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting that out loud. Instead he pulled the lighter from his pocket and focused on the flame as it danced.

"We used to talk, Martin. Do you remember that?"

"I used to trust you 'till I found out you lied to me."

"I know you've painted me as a monster for it, and I do understand the… inclination to want someone to blame. I was trying to protect you. I'm still trying to protect you, but you've made it difficult."

"Same old threats. You need new ones to scare me."

"I'm not trying to scare you, Martin, and they're not the same. We're past that. I may still be the head of this program, but my superiors feel as though it needs a… different approach on security."

"You expect me to feel bad for you that you lost some a your control?" Martin asked, blowing smoke directly into Riggins' face.

He coughed hard, choking out his next words. "They've put Priest charge of security."

Martin froze, staring. "You're shittin' me."

"I'm not. He will answer to me, but I warn you, Martin, he will handle things differently. You've seen his tactics and he knows you and the boys already. Tread lightly."

Martin loosed a long breath, smoke curling out with it. This was a new complication. Up until now it had been a pain, but this was a dangerous shift. He knew well enough what Priest was capable of doing. What he seemed to enjoy doing. "Just security?"

"For now, but it will adjust the way the system works. They want results, Martin, and you and the boys have stood out to them as troublemakers. They won't be as kind to you."

"They've never been kind to me," the blond snapped.

Riggins sighed. "I can't change this, Martin. I've done everything I can, pulled every last favour to try. There are consequences to your actions, and you're about to have to face those. Just…. keep your head down as best you can, you hear?"

What did he expect them to do? March to and from testing like good little broken lab rats without a peep? That wasn't them. That couldn't be them. Even if he asked it if his boys it wouldn't last long, no matter the dangers they faced. They had to have some relief or they'd lose what was left of themselves to this place. That wasn't something he could live with.

Martin sighed deeply, stubbing what was left of his cigarette out on the floor. "Priest knows he comes through me to get to them."

"Martin-"

"You make sure he remembers. If you ever gave a damn, do that much at least."

"He will go through you, Martin. You know that."

"Yeah," he huffed, "but if he's focused on me they won't get hit as hard."

Riggins sat there for a long moment, a strange scent coming from him and his greying eyebrows drawing together. He nodded after a long moment and stood, fumbling with his jacket until he pulled an unopened pack of cigarettes from it and tossed them to Martin. "It will get better if you let it," he said softly.

"No it won't," the blond answered, knocking the pack hard against the palm of his hand. "Not while we're caged."

Riggins grimaced at the words and turned, starting for the exit. He paused at the door. "Don't let him kill you, Martin. They won't make it without you."

"I know." He watched Riggins leave and pried the new pack open, knocking one free. "But I won't make it without the either," he murmured into the empty room.

* * *

Notes: Have I mentioned that I have very complicated feelings about Riggins? Because I do.

So, this is where things are going to move a bit darker and a bit more dangerous for our boys. You know, like they weren't in constant terrible times before. Now they have Priest overseeing security between his hunting trips for new subjects. Not happy times there.

The next chapter does have Bart in it, though, so that'll be wild :D


	21. Fight For Your Life

**Fight For Your Life**

The day should have been done. All three Rowdies had been delivered back to their room after twelve straight hours of tests. They were all aching and exhausted, their feet dragging as they stumbled towards the bunks, not even bothering with a change of clothes. Sleep had been the intention, but Martin hadn't even made it up the ladder when they heard the comm buzz through and the automated voice warned them to step back from the door. Three guards came in, though others could be seen in the hallway, and they were all armed.

"Go away," Gripps said, already facedown in his pillow.

"Not goin' anywhere," Cross agreed.

"We're done for the day," Martin groused as he started his slow climb to the top bunk. Good luck to them getting him out that door once he made it.

"We've been instructed to take you back to the South Wing for one last test."

Martin paused halfway up. Those weren't the labs or the medical wing. The South Wing was made up of what Blackwing referred to as their observation rooms. This was an odd hour to stick them in that. Were they hoping to observe their sleeping habits? He hoped not. There had to be a few minutes out of the day that they weren't being watched like the lab rats they were.

The guards moved in and they went for Cross first since he was still standing in the middle of the room. He fought as they took hold of his arms, slamming his head back into the guard's face behind him and kicking as they tried to grab his legs. "No _more_!" he shouted, agitation clipping his words.

Martin dropped from the ladder and Gripps was halfway up as well when the stench hit the blond and stopped him mid-stride. Priest appeared at the open door, gas pack strapped to his back, and he sprayed Cross until he stopped fighting.

Priest immediately turned to Gripps, hitting him next even though he hadn't rushed him. The new head of security turned to Martin and the bespectacled Rowdy raised his hands slowly. "We ain't fightin' you on this," he said lowly.

"Looked to be exactly what you were doin'," Priest answered and the gas hit.

* * *

He came around with a jolt of electricity screaming through him. His entire body shook with it, slamming his head hard against a metal slab behind him. He was standing, strapped into place and his wrists were secured at his sides. Martin grunted as he struggled against them, but they didn't budge.

"I'd save your strength, Martin. It could be a very long night."

Blue eyes darted to his left to see Priest giving him a lazy sort of smile, standing slowly from the seat he had been lounging in. Martin kept tugging at his restraints. "What gives?"

"Well not those," Priest chuckled.

"Where's Riggins? You ain't in charge of the testing."

"No, but I am here to oversee the security. You don't get results without a little… risk, but no reason to give you boys hope of another joyride, is there? Or her."

"Her?" Martin echoed, tilting his head.

Priest motioned and lights flooded the room on the other side of a one-way window, showing a young girl with wild hair and a slightly crazed look to her eyes as she tried to pinpoint the source of the new light. She was covered in blood, though as far as Martin could tell none of it appeared to be hers. He turned a questioning look at Priest who looked… proud. It was a terrifying expression on his face.

"Her name is Bartine Curlish. Blackwing has been trying to bring her in since she was nine years old. Four years, not a one of them could get her. She killed most of them. Brutally too. Blood everywhere. It was a real mess."

Martin blinked at him. As if he needed more proof that Priest was crazy, he was nearly giddy as he spoke. Scratch that. He was giddy. No reason to sugar coat the crazy.

"I brought her in though." Priest smirked at him. "You and I have history now, Martin. You're one hell of a fighter. So're the other Incubus subjects, so when the last subject we dropped in with her didn't make it out, I thought of you boys."

"For what, exactly?"

The door slid open and Gripps and Cross, both strapped to the same type of contraption as Martin was to keep them in place, were rolled in. Both unconscious, but as the guards stepped back electricity shocked them awake.

"Test limits, mostly."

"Easier ways to kill us, Priest."

"Oh, I have no intention of you dying today, Martin. Where's the fun in that? No, we'll drop you in one by one. Bart will do what Bart does and we'll observe the differences in how you fight singularly versus how that link of yours works. All the notes on you boys were inconclusive when it comes to that. No tellin' if you can feel each other's pain or not. Guess we'll find out."

A chill swept through him as he saw the way Priest was eyeing his brothers, like he was trying to decide which one would go first. Martin wasn't sure exactly how that little girl had killed bounty hunters and other subjects, but he did know that the first one of them dropped in would be in the most danger. They fought as a unit. "Fine," he snapped after a moment. "No gettin' out of it. Send me in first."

"Always ready to sacrifice for your brothers, aren't you?" Priest chuckled. "Not this time. That one first." He motioned to Cross and a guard stepped forward warily. Priest held up a small device. "Don't even think about it, kid. The collar around your neck ain't jewelry. You try to feed and I snap a button here. You'll be down within seconds, and I promise you that unconsciousness will not save you from Bartine."

Martin saw the fear in Cross' dark eyes and he pulled hard on his restraints. "No!"

Priest chuckled. "See, Martin, you think I gotta go through you, but I don't. You don't make the rules in here, son." He reached over, taking hold of the tuff of white blond hair on top of his head and jerked his neck at an awkward angle so that the tattoo Gripps had inked into his skin was fully visible to the older man. "The only control here is mine."

The blond Rowdy snarled and fought as they unstrapped his brother and forced him into the room with the teenage killer. His gaze caught Gripps' briefly and he could feel the same fear from him as he felt himself.

Cross stumbled into the room, still looking a little dazed from the gassing he had gotten. He blinked hard and Martin leaned hard against his restraints, getting as close as physically possible as he saw the girl rise from where she had been seated, legs bent and folded. Her gaze locked on their youngest brother and a sharp, parking laugh escaped her as she darted forward.

"Get him ready," Priest instructed, motioning to Gripps.

Cross moved, his steps light and Martin saw him looking for a weapon of some kind. There wasn't much. A mat, some chairs, a table in the corner. No bats, no crowbars or anything the boys would have preferred. Cross leapt to the side, as the girl lurched towards him, hands outstretched like she was ready to tear his throats out.

He didn't give her a chance as he jumped for a chair, swinging it hard at her.

And missed.

It had been so close that it would have taken more effort to miss than hit, but the chair slipped from his fingers and hit the wall hard enough to crack the plastic seating.

Bart slammed into Cross and the dark haired Rowdy hit the floor hard, but rolled, catching her in the stomach with his boot and vaulting her over hard and rolling to his own feet.

The girl staggered to her feet where she'd landed and shook her head as if to clear it, her gaze falling on the chair. A toothy grin took over and she stopped to grab the chair, using her foot to hold it as she worked a bent piece of the metal leg until it came off sharp and dangerous. Her gaze fixed back on Cross and he froze.

Martin struggled hard. "Priest! Let us in there! Let us in there!" he shouted, feeling his brother's fear that was slamming into him like a tidal wave.

Priest held a hand up and continued watching Bart circle Cross, the Rowdy echoing the steps. Someone had to move first, but it would depend how fast the reaction of the other was how it would end.

And then it happened. Bart came at him and Cross moved. She had been going for his throat with it but he was faster and sidestepped last second. She tipped a little off balance and he slammed an elbow into her back to finish the fall. Bart swung, though, lashing out and Martin could feel the spike that came with physical pain through their link.

Cross tumbled in the opposite direction, hand going to his side and coming away bloodied.

"Now," Priest barked and Gripps was loosed into the room as well.

Martin could feel the straps biting through his jumpsuit with as hard as he was pulling against them. Gripps looked ready to kill as he gave a howl and went to his little brother's aid.

Cross was pulling himself up, the cut deep, but not so much that he couldn't stand. The two Rowdies looked at each other, silent understanding between them and the moved in opposite directions, circling around the girl and working together to push her in the direction that they needed her to go.

Bart huffed, frustration starting to build as she gripped her makeshift weapon, but couldn't quite land another blow on the two Rowdy Boys as they moved out of her reach.

"Now I do wonder if I can trust you enough to get you ready, Martin?" Priest drawled and the bound man looked over to him.

"You gonna let me help them?"

"When the time's right, but you cause trouble out here and I'll leave those to to Bart, do you understand me?"

"Yeah."

The straps came undone and Martin sprang forward, his nose nearly pushed against the glass. His brothers were still dancing around an increasingly irritated teen girl between them until Martin saw their plan as it unfolded.

Cross was bait. She went for him and Gripps pulled the mat from under her feet, sending her sprawling and she hit the floor hard enough that she lost her hold on the chair leg.

Gripps tackled her, holding her to the floor so that Cross could take hold of her weapon. She slammed forward hard, taking Gripps by surprise, and he fell back, a dazed expression on his face.

Priest motioned and they opened the door to let Martin in. He almost moved faster than the door with a shout to draw her attention away from Gripps. He got it.

Martin had been in plenty of scuffles over the years. He enjoyed them. There was the rush of adrenaline and the spike of knowing you had to come out in top. This one smelled like trouble though. It was strange and off-putting, and the way this girl smelled made him more than a little uneasy. Like death was her only real companion.

"Look," she said and that was the first indication that she even _could_ talk, "this ain't my fault. You gotta die, okay?"

"Priest tell ya that?"

"Who's Priest?" she asked and jump at him, the blow surprisingly hard for a scrawny girl like her. He shouldn't have been shocked. He'd watched his brothers try to take her on.

Something was off about the whole thing. He could feel it now that he was face to face with her. He couldn't pinpoint it, but his steps faltered where they never would have before and blows weren't blocked where they could have easily been avoided with anyone else. She was a weirdo like him, but her weirdness was affecting him. He didn't like that.

His brothers joined the fight and it was a blur of movement, but the one constant was the feeling that they were off of their game when up against this girl. Martin could almost feel Priest sneering at them. He knew this was coming and he'd put them in anyway. He was making his point: The Rowdy Three weren't in control. To survive this, they'd have to constantly be on their guard, constantly fighting for their lives. There was no rest, there was no peace, there was only the fight.

If that's what it took, he'd give them one hell of a fight.

And he did. They all did, but it was like the whole universe was working against them and for her. Like something outside that room didn't _want_ them to win this fight, or even to give them much of a chance. One little girl was winning against the Rowdy Three and as Martin picked himself up, feeling an ache spread through his ribs from the last hard blow he'd suffered, he caught Cross' eyes. He was the only one that would have the chance. Even if all three of them fed at the same time, they'd never drain her fast enough to avoid Priest's failsafe. Cross might have a chance though, and if he could get enough from her to get the upper hand, they might get out of this alive. They weren't above cheating to survive.

Martin moved in the last second and Cross pounced, taking her head over heels across the floor as Martin and Gripps shifted to do their best to shield the view from the window. Cross and Bart landed hard, Cross on top and holding her down, the subtle feeding exchanging energy from her to his hands as he pulled it in. It wouldn't be long until Priest figured it out, but if Cross could get enough….

And then it hit. Martin saw the lights flash on the collar around Cross' neck and smoke rose up from it. It wasn't much, but enough to stun him and he fell over onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling and only able to twitch a little. Gripps rushed her, but he was hit next. Apparently Priest wasn't giving them a fighting chance after all.

Martin heard the door open, drawing Bart's attention as his own collar lit and he fell to his knees, the paralysis buckling them under him but not stealing consciousness from him. He was frozen there and for just a moment he wondered if he was going to die this way: on his knees before Priest. What a terrible way to go.

"Bartine, stand on down," Priest said as he entered, but she turned a glare on him.

"Can't. These three gotta die."

"Not today," he answered and held up a different clip. Martin hadn't noticed the collar fitted around Bart's neck in all of the chaos, but electricity jolted her hard and she fell to the floor, limp and unconscious. Priest turned his attention to Martin and that smirk made the blond Rowdy's stomach turn. He moved towards him, no fear coming from him, and he knew full well that Martin couldn't even twitch at this point. He was frozen there as the older man stopped right in front of him, leaning down in his face, that smirk still set in place. "This is your lesson, Martin," he drawled. "One you better learn fast. Riggins may run the facility, but I'm in charge of security, and that means keepin' all you freaks in line. I will do that by any means necessary."

Priest drew back, the blow landing hard in Martin's middle and stealing the breath from him. He tipped over, his body still not responding to his attempts to stay steady after the gassing and Priest stood over him, nudging him with one steel toe boot, that smirk never fading. He could hear small sounds of protest from his brothers, still frozen just like he was, and their horrible reality sunk in just a little deeper than before.

* * *

Notes: And here we go.


	22. Worth It

**Worth It**

Priest had left the collars on even after the Rowdy Three were delivered back to their room. They tried to tug them off for a good hour before finally giving up on them for the night, all three huddling together for the little sleep they might get before they came to collect them for morning tests. They held onto each other, careful of the injuries sustained in the fight with Bartine.

They didn't see their tormentor the next day, nor did they see him the next. They were shuffled to and from their room to medical to testing, sometimes together and sometimes separately, and to whatever else they had lined up up to do to them, the constant threat of being gassed at even the appearance of a wrong step hanging over them like a dark cloud.

They were tired, they were hurting, and they were hungry. Apparently the new security changes meant feeding changes as well. They had been relatively well fed before, but now they were waiting days between. It didn't look like they were trying to starve them out, but they were trying to control the excess energy they had.

One day they managed to get more than Blackwing intended and Martin heard a pop and fizzle from the collar. The excess energy had fried it like it did the cameras and the lights.

A quick glance in Cross' direction said he'd heard it too, but the blond gave the barest shakes of his head. Blackwing hadn't, and they would only have one opportunity before it became obvious the collars wouldn't work. No, they needed to wait. They needed to be patient, no matter how hard that was.

Their rare patience paid off when Priest joined the usual guards to collect them after a set of tests. Martin was hit by his stench before the door opened and he caught Gripps and Cross' attention. The time for patience was over.

Three guards, two techs, no problem. They weren't even strapped down because they thought they had them on a short leash.

The fear that spiked was sweet and the panic that followed the understanding that the collars _no longer worked_ was delicious. Martin saw Cross and Gripps take off towards the others, but Martin zeroed in on Priest. He didn't have his pack and he seemed to realize just how much trouble he was in as the blond Rowdy pounced on him.

Strange, though. His fear wasn't nearly as potent as it should have been.

Martin slammed into him hard enough to drive him off balance, throwing him hard against a wall as chaos was erupting behind them. Martin wrapped his fingers around the front of Priest's shirt and a feral growl rumbled from deep in his throat.

Priest raised his hands in mock surrender. "Now Martin. Don't do anythin' you'll come to regret."

"Oh I ain't gonna regret this," he snarled.

"Yeah you will." The older man lurched forward, head slamming into Martin's, cracking his glasses against his nose hard, and the Rowdy stumbled back. The blow made his head spin, but he caught himself quickly enough, his intense gaze latching onto Priest's and he _pulled_. Energy swept towards him, filling him up, and as Priest froze here Martin had him he was certain he didn't regret it.

He had never drained anyone dry before, so he couldn't be sure it would kill him, be he hoped it would. It was strange, and in the back of his mind he knew he should feel worse than he did, but this man was a constant and terrible threat to his brothers. This might not buy their freedom, but killing Priest could keep them alive. If he had to stain his conscience just a little to make that happen, it was well worth it.

"Martin!" Gripps shouted from behind him and the blow sent him crashing to his knees, the energy immediately cut.

Pain spread across his shoulders and he forced himself to focus, barely able to turn in time to see the second blow coming. It hit him hard against the side of the head and he went tumbling to the side, the room pulsing around him. As many sets of hands descended on him he realized that Priest's backup had come and he had been so caught up that he'd missed it. They hauled him to his feet, still plenty dazed, but he could see Priest lifeless on the floor and a small smirk twitched his lips upward. No, he didn't regret it for an instant, no matter how badly he hurt now. It was worth it.


	23. Darkness

**Darkness**

They didn't deliver him back into his room. They didn't even take him to the same place as his brothers. Instead Martin was dragged, only half conscious and with a splitting headache, to a windowless room with more locks than his addled brain cared to count. He hit the hard floor hard, rolling to a stop and he laid there on his side as the lights shut off, plunging everything into darkness.

Martin thought he must have fallen asleep, but he couldn't be sure. It was just as dark and hard to tell how much time had passed when he opened his eyes again, his senses coming back to him. His head hurt a little less. That was the real indication, but when he reached up to let his long fingers gingerly explore the place where the butt of the rifle had caught him he found a knot forming up there. It hurt. Everything hurt, and he _hated_ the dark.

But he didn't want to give them the satisfaction of letting them know how much he hated it, so he remained very still, curled on his side and he waited.

Martin considered himself a relatively patient man. He was willing to wait, but only so long. Hours had to have passed by the time he stood and felt his way around the square room to the door. There was no handle, no way to open it. It was solid and locked from the outside. He pressed his palm against it and stretched his senses until he found guards standing outside. Their emotions were even. They weren't afraid of him. They weren't nervous. He thought he could change that pretty quickly.

He reared back and slammed his open palm against the metal door for the loudest noise possible. "Hey! Yo! Assholes! How long ya gonna keep me waitin' for?" he shouted, punctuating each pause with another loud bang. He waited for a long moment, but there was no answer, no shift in energy outside the door. If they even twitched at the sound it was too subtle for him to pick up on it. He was alone in the dark, fully at Blackwing's whim and at their mercy.

What he could only assume were hours ticked by. He paced and he slept. He ran his long fingers across each wall to see if he could pick up on any energy beyond them. It was like a void, the only hint that he wasn't the only one left in the universe the steady pulses outside the door. He thought they were human. Maybe he was wrong.

At some point the lights flooded back on, jolting Martin from the doze he'd drifted off into in one of the corners of the room. He blinked hard, reaching up to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and instantly remembering not only had Priest managed to break them by slamming his head into Martin's face, but he'd likely broken the Rowdy's nose as well. With the pain that spread at the touch, he was pretty sure he had.

The locks started to come undone one by one on the other side of the door, drawing his attention and he squinted at it. He didn't move, instead he bent one long leg so that he could drape an arm over his knee like he'd been happily lounging the whole time.

The door finally opened and Martin saw a face he hadn't seen in a while now. Riggins walked in, shoulders squared and a glare fixed on the blond. Three guards entered with him, two with rifles at their side and one with the gas pack Priest had worn before he had given the collars a go. Martin flashed a lazy smile. "Yo."

Riggins' expression didn't lighten. Martin thought the glare might have even darkened. "I warned you to watch yourself, Martin, but you just wouldn't listen. The only thing saving you right now is that somehow Priest managed to survive. They think he's going to pull through, but you could have killed him."

Martin leaned forward a little, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. "That's what I was goin' for."

"This is _not_ a game!" Riggins huffed.

"No," the blond answered. "And it wasn't when he stuck my boys and me in with that crazy girl who tried to kill us with a broken chair. She got Cross good, but no one but us cared. He convinced her she had to kill us." He leapt to his feet and without a warning the gas hit, slamming into him and choking him. He fell back against the wall, stunned, and his knees finally buckle so that he slid back down to sitting once more.

"Project Marzanna won't be an issue for you moving forward. She won't even remember you exist." Riggins' voice was cold and even, like he were reading an instruction manual. Martin was still trying to suck enough air in just to breathe past the gas. "This is serious, Martin. There will be a committee formed to decide what to do with you. You'll remain here in solitary until a decision has been made."

"You're just… gonna leave me here… to rot?" Martin managed to croak, the last word coughed out painfully.

Riggins straightened. "You'll remain here until a decision has been made." There was a tiny shift, something behind that calculated glare, and Martin thought it might have been a flash of sympathy, but it was gone too fast to be sure. "You want to act like an animal, we'll cage you like an animal. You've done this to yourself, son. You can't say you weren't warned."

The man that had promised to help him once turned his back, the guards following him out. Martin couldn't move as the door slammed shut, the locks slid loudly back into place, and the lights went out, leaving him alone in the darkness.

* * *

Notes: It's a wonder I'm still on FFN with the way this site eats things. Second time's a charm?

I've had a few notes asking about Vogel, and yes he's definitely going to come in, but not until right before their break out. His introduction to the Rowdy 3 was what sparked that jailbreak, so we won't see him until 2001. Currently we're somewhere in 1995, but there are time jumps, just depending on the story. I'm looking forward to him showing up as well!


	24. Release

**Release**

He'd lost track of time. It was always dark and always silent. Even the sound of his own voice as he screamed and pounded in the door seemed to be lost to the void he had been left in. No one came. No one did anything.

It had been a long time since he had felt the kind of all-consuming hunger that took hold of him while he was left to rot in the abyss. He was starving. He could feel it. Sometimes the pain was sharp, while other times it was an ache that worked its way into his entire being. There were no regular feedings. They came once and they'd gassed him to stop him from feeding as he drained the poor person. He couldn't help himself. They didn't come back though, and eventually the gnawing hunger returned.

Some days he screamed. Pained howls echoed off the walls until his voice gave and he was left curled in the corner with only the sound of his own breathing for company. It didn't do a damned thing though. No one seemed to hear him, and if they did they didn't care. They'd left him to die in that hole. That was the only explanation. They had left him to die away from his brothers and smothered in darkness.

When the lights flooded the room he gave a sharp cry, trying to pull away from them. It was too bright, the buzzing of the bulbs too loud. The door hadn't opened though and for just a moment he thought they were just looking for new ways to torture him.

Then the vents hissed and gas flooded in and he was sure of it.

Martin gave a soft, struggling whimper as the locks slid out of place and the door opened. He was curled with his knees to his chest in the corner. They hadn't needed to gas him. He was too weak to move anyway.

"Well aren't you a sight?" a voice drawled and he knew it. It was burned into his brain and a low, dangerous growl escaped him, the name escaping on it.

"Priest."

So he had survived. Damn. There went the few dreams Martin had tried to cling to for hope.

"You kids look hellish when they don't feed you, don't ya?" Priest chirped, a terrifying smile on his face. "You seen yourself? No? Guess they wouldn't leave you with anything you could break, so no mirror. You'll have to take my word for it, you look positively hellish."

"Ain't you proud?" Martin managed to rasp.

"Now, Martin," Priest tutted, "You managed to bring this all crashing down on yourself. You wanted to stand between me and them, and I guess you got that much. How's it feel?"

Martin grunted, the threat falling flat.

"Say what?" Priest asked, leaning forward theatrically. "Can't hear ya down there." Then he moved, grabbing hold of Martin's jumpsuit and hauling him to his feet. He held him up against the wall, one hand wrapping around his throat and then the other, but Martin couldn't fight him with the gas working through his system. He couldn't even lift a hand to try. All he could do was choke and Priest knew it. "They're letting you out of your little prison," Priest hissed him his ear. "But before they do I want to make sure you and I are crystal clear. You are never getting outta here and it's only gonna get worse. They won't let you die. You're too valuable for that, but these last six months will look like a dream next to what I will do to you and your boys should you ever decide to pull a stunt like that again. You understand me, boy?"

Martin struggled to bring a hand up to fight, but it fell limply at his side every time. All he could do was watch the dark spots dance across his vision and feel his lungs burn as Priest choked the very breath out of him. His body gave an involuntary jolt against it and the psychopath smiled, almost giddy and the younger man's suffering.

"Can't hear you," he said again and Martin caught his eyes for the briefest moment. Hate filled him up, but even that wasn't enough as everything went dark.

* * *

Martin came around slowly and the first thing he realized was that he was still starving. Still in pain. Nothing had changed.

Except he was staring at the underside of a bunk bed.

"Martin?"

Blue eyes blinked hard and he started to sit up, but felt a hand against his shoulder. It was surprisingly gentle for everything that he'd been through recently.

"Easy," Gripps urged. "You're okay." But his expression was tight and worry rolled off of him in waves.

"Gonna be okay," Cross said from above and leaned over the edge of the middle bed.

"Yeah," Martin rasped, and he reached up to his raw throat, fingers touching it lightly. If the tenderness was any indication, bruises were already forming. "What… what happened? What'd they say?"

"They didn't say nothin'," Gripps growled. "Just tossed you in."

A low curse fell from the blond's lips and he shifted, trying to sit, but he found he couldn't get quite that far. He looked to Gripps, the silent request exchanged, and his brother helped ease him to sitting, supporting him until he was able to shift enough weight forward so he wouldn't end up flat on his back again. Cross flipped off of the middle bunk and disappeared for half a moment only to return with a water bottle. Martin took it with a small nod of thanks. Water was all he'd had since the feeding… ages ago. He wasn't sure when that was. It felt good on his sore throat though.

Martin looked up as he finished the bottle, finding a chuckle escaping him despite everything. "Damn, Cross. You grew. How long was I in there?"

"Fifteen million, eight hundred twenty, and four hundred seconds," Gripps answered and the blond stared at him for a long moment, his brain rebelling fully against the answer.

"'Bout six months," Cross clarified.

Martin nodded his thanks and squeezed his eyes shut. He'd been in that hellhole half a year. He looked around. "I stole your bed," he muttered at last and Gripps finally cracked a smile. That looked more like him.

"We were gonna make a pallet tonight anyway."

The blond nodded. "Any chance it's tonight?" he asked. He needed sleep. Hopefully they'd all be fed the next day, but for now he just needed to curl up with his brothers and try to sleep away at least some of the pain.

"Close enough," Gripps answered and started climbing the bunk bed. He tossed Martin's mattress down and Cross took his to the middle as well.

A few minutes later they were all tucked under a comforter on the floor, huddled together with Martin in the middle. He breathed in the familiar scents and focused on that. At least if there were nightmares, he wouldn't be alone when he woke up.

* * *

Notes: So, I was chatting with a friend that I bounce a lot of ideas off of for this story and we were discussing how much of an age difference there would be between Priest and Martin. I imagine there's little more than about 5 years difference. I have Martin set at 42 for when he's talking with Amanda and telling the story. Michael's actual age seems to be a very well kept secret, but Alan Tudyk is 46. So if we go off of Alan's age for Priest, that puts them four years apart. Priest gets such a power trip every time he calls Martin 'boy' because there's just not much of an age difference there.


	25. Any Time Soon

**Any Time Soon**

It didn't take long for Martin to find out why he'd been released. Just as Priest had said, he was too valuable to kill. Apparently he was too valuable to leave in solitary confinement too. Blackwing upped their security - more guards, gassing them whenever they were being moved, restraints, and the list went on - and ramped up the testing. Up until that point the Rowdy Three had been told that the goal was to understand their abilities. The part about helping them had been dropped sometime over the years, but the goal had always been, as far as Martin understood it, to study. Now, it would seem they'd convinced whoever had the deeper pockets that they could weaponize them.

Over the course of the time that Martin had been in the custody of Blackwing he'd endured test after test. It wasn't that any of them had been particularly pleasant, but some of the new tests were taking it to whole new levels. They had started with his brothers while he'd been locked away. He hadn't noticed the first night he had been back - all he'd wanted to do then was sleep and be certain that he wasn't alone anymore - but he caught a glimpses of the relatively new scars they still hadn't talked about the next night as they all stripped off the jumpsuits to toss on the lightweight, pale blue shirt and pants that Blackwing provided to sleep in. Whatever Blackwing was trying to find through them had begun with Gripps and Cross, and they had new marks to prove it. It still made his blood boil to think about it, but none of them had gotten a straight answer as to what, exactly, they were looking for yet.

As many new tests as they were running, it seemed like they were on repeat of some of the old ones too. Martin wondered as he pulled against the straps holding him onto the table if they'd simply replaced all of the old employees with Blackwing with new faces and they were just going off of the charts that they were handed without any real understanding as to what they were doing. Maybe no one really knew what was happening. The thought amused him as he closed his eyes, feeling the sting of the needle in his arm as it pulled more blood from him for tests.

"Exactly what is it that you're tryin' to do here?" he asked after a long moment, the words sticking a little in his mouth. He was tired. It'd been a long day anyway and this was just making it that much longer. It took him a beat longer than it should have to realize that the tech simply wasn't answering and he cracked one eye open. "Hey. You. You not allowed to talk to us now?"

The lab tech cleared his throat, looking very nervous. "I'm not sure you'd understand the-"

"I'm a clever guy. Try me."

That caused the other to frown, focusing through his glasses at the tubes of blood they'd already drawn from the blond Rowdy. "We're attempting to replicate your… condition."

"Ain't in the blood."

"You have no way to know that."

"Oh yeah? Then whatcha people been drawin' it for for once a week since I got here six years ago?"

Another nervous sound came from him, covered by a cough. "There have been some leadership changes. They believe that it is a viable avenue to explore."

Martin snorted and laid his head back. "You people are takin' this vampire thing way too literally." There was a pause and he shifted, trying to get a good look at the dark haired tech. "Ain't nobody want to be like us."

"It doesn't matter what they want," came the immediate answer as he slid another vile into his set and left without another word.

* * *

The days blurred together. Some days the tests were run with his brothers, others separately. They huddled together at night, the bunkbeds mostly useless these days. Every day that they were toted off for testing someone would come back in and put the mattresses back up on the bed and every night they would pull them back off to create one big pallet for themselves. Riggins never made an appearance, but neither did Priest for the most part, so there was comfort in that at the very least. Martin wasn't sure he'd be able to restrain himself from trying to kill him again now that he had his strength back.

Martin was tossed back into the room he shared with the other Rowdy Three late one night, dazed by the gas that had once left him completely unconscious. He stumbled, hit the floor on his knees, and coughed once before struggling back up and shaking it off. Gripps was lounging on the mattresses already pulled from the beds, a book in his hand, and Cross was pacing, but turned with the biggest shit eating grin that Martin had ever seen. That was both worrisome and exciting. He'd know for sure in the next few seconds. "What?"

The dark haired Rowdy was bouncing. "You know, they think we're stupid."

That wasn't what he would have expected for as excited as the younger man was. "Okay?"

"Makes it fun," Cross answered as he dug his hand deep into the pocket of his jumpsuit and produced a pen and what looked like a sewing needle. His grin only grew.

Martin chuckled at the sight of it. "You said you wanted a tattoo."

"Yeah! Gripps, please?"

"Only if Martin gives me one too. I want want too."

"I bet I can manage. Whatcha decide on, Cross?"

His younger brother circled his fingers together and peered through. "They think I don't see nothin'. Don't see what they do. I see everything they do."

The boys spent the next several hours huddled around, carefully dipping the needle into the ink and creating a new tattoo for Cross. It was simple. A circle around his right eye was all he wanted, so that they would always know he was watching them, he said. Somehow Gripps got through the whole thing without anyone coming into the room, which was a feat considering how Cross yelped when the needle moved to the thin skin covering the inner bridge of his nose. He swallowed it though. It wasn't like they were new to pain.

At the end of it all the ink was used up and they had was enough for Cross' tattoo, but Gripps seemed fine with that. They had time for anything he wanted done later. It wasn't like they were going anywhere any time soon.

* * *

Notes: I was really back and forth on Cross' tattoo for a while, but finally settled on an idea for it. I'll be curious if it's ever explained. Like so many other little details that I have a feeling have a lot more meaning behind them than we might think about on the surface...


	26. Sick

**Sick**

One constant that Martin had discovered since coming to Blackwing was that as long as he was well fed, he didn't get sick. It wasn't like he had a lot of outside contact or exposure beyond his brothers and the people that were running the tests, but overall he had come to the conclusion that whatever weirdness it was that had him feeding off of neurological energy to survive also boosted his immune system.

That didn't mean that Blackwing could find ways around it, even if it was by accident. There were many tests that were run on the Rowdy Three that were meant to hurt. Meant to keep them in line and remind them just who was in charge. Then, some days, testing just went wrong.

Blackwing had been adjusting the gas that they used to stun them. Whatever they had added to it had hit long after the lights had gone out for the night. Martin had woken to the sound of a rough cough next to him on the pallet, cracking an eye open to see Cross curled into himself, his own dark eyes squeezed shut. Off towards the corner of the room that housed the tiny shower and toilet, Martin heard what sounded like retching. He started to ease himself up, feeling an ache spread through him that hadn't been there when he went to sleep earlier.

He pushed it back, nudging Cross. "Yo, you okay?"

"Don't feel good," came the whimpered explanation and Cross curled just a little tighter, shivering. Martin frowned as he leaned to grab the blanket the younger Rowdy had thrown off in his sleep and tucked it around him. His skin was warm to the touch.

He stood the rest of the way to his feet slowly, feeling the room shift, and he regretted not grabbing his glasses before he stood. Leaning down for them was not happening. Not if he wanted to stay on his feet.

Martin reached up and massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to will the building headache away. The only thing out of the norm the day before had been their rounds with the new gas. Great. He hoped making them sick off it would be enough to keep them from using that version, but with Blackwing he could never be sure. All he could do right now was make sure sick was as far as they went with it.

His steps were slow, bare feet dragging on the cool floor and Martin shivered a little as he made his way over and leaned against the wall next to the tiny excuse for a restroom. Gripps had gone quiet inside and the blond tapped his knuckles against the wall. "You alive in there, Gripps?"

There was a long pause before a raspy voice answered. "Not sure. Check back in five."

Martin snorted.

"What'd they put in that stuff?" Cross grumbled from his cocoon on the pallet.

"More terrible things," Gripps said from his place. "You miss out, Martin?"

The blond opened his mouth to answer, but a cough started low and worked its way up, rattling through his chest and scraping along the inside of his throat. It shook his entire frame so hard that he finally let his knees bend under him and slid down the wall until he was seated on the floor.

"Guess not."

He wanted to chuckle at Gripps' words, but knew better. It was like they'd been dropped several days into a case of the flu. Fevers, cough, and everything that went with it. The worst part was that they wouldn't even be left alone to just curl up and feel miserable. If they were well enough, they'd continue testing in the morning, but if not they would be toted off to the medical wing. Martin hadn't been sick under Blackwing before, but he had been injured, and he knew from experience that the last thing he wanted while feeling this crappy was to have them hovering over him.

"Next?" Gripps asked, and Martin looked up to find his brother standing over him and he squinted up.

"Nah. Just need to find a way back to bed."

Gripps offered him a hand and Martin took it, trying not to rely on the other man too much or they would both end up in a heap on the floor. Somehow they managed to make it to the mattresses and Martin found himself more grateful than usual that they no longer actually used the bunk beds.

He fell hard on the mattress, burning his face into his pillow to cough again.

"I think they're trying to kill us," Cross grumbled.

"Tryin' means that they knew what they were doin'," Martin huffed and Gripps chuckled. When Cross gave another loud groan he reached over to swat at him. "Go back to sleep."

"Can't. Think I'm dyin'."

Blue eyes slid open to find fever-bright brown ones staring at him from the small opening in his blankets. "Ain't you ever been sick before?"

"No. You?"

Martin blinked hard. That's all he had been once. It seemed like so long ago now, that scrawny blond kid, half starved and always sick with something or the other. His body had just been fighting to keep him going without the nutrition it needed. It hadn't had anything left for his immune system.

"Martin?"

"Yeah," he answered finally. "It sucks, but none of us are dyin'."

"Will it go away by morning?"

"Doubt it. Usually lasts a few days. Sometimes a week."

Cross groaned dramatically and sank down into the blankets, causing his big brother to smirk. "Ain't gonna let anything happen to you, Cross. You know that, right?"

A soft sound of acknowledgement came from the bundle and Martin burrowed down a little deeper under the blankets. Gripps was snoring to his other side and after a long moment he let his eyes slide closed, hoping to claim just a few hours sleep before morning.

* * *

Notes: Anyone else see the preview for next week? I really hope that they leak that scene from the beginning out before Saturday. I'm not sure I can wait otherwise lol


	27. The Smell of Danger

**The Smell of Danger**

"They can't keep us in the room forever, right?" Cross asked for what Martin estimated was at least the fifteenth time in the last hour. His younger brother was pacing, bouncing, and almost twitching. The blond remained seated on the bare floor of the observation room, his gaze constantly shifting up to the one-way window. There were people there. He could smell them, but they hadn't said a word. They'd been delivered to the room some time before and then just left. What the point was he had no idea, nor did he care at this point. The boredom was enough to make him want to trash the place, but there was nothing to trash.

He drew a breath in to answer, a scent following it. Martin paused, tilted his head, and finally unfolded himself from his place. He felt Cross' attention turn to him just a beat after Gripps', but none of them said anything as he stalked his way over to the furthest wall, placing the palm of his hand against it and reaching through.

Fear spiked on the other side, sharp and pulsing, almost like a wire short circuiting. It jolted and hissed, almost physically burning Martin's fingertips. He growled lowly against it.

"What is it?" Gripps asked just behind him, startling the blond from his focus.

"Not sure. Somethin' bad." He glanced up at the window where he knew they were being watched. But for what? What did they expect them to do? Something bad was happening in the next room. This was Blackwing. Something bad was _always_ happening in the next room. What did the men behind the glass expect the Rowdy Three to do about it?

There wasn't a ready answer for him though, and another low growl escaped him. It was a test that he didn't know the purpose of. Nothing new there.

Then there was a shift, one he knew his brothers felt as well, and the danger wasn't just hanging in the air anymore. It was more tangible and closer to them. Martin tensed, looking for the source. It was behind the window, but those people were sending something their way. The sense of danger was coming from all sides, circling around and screaming through his brain. All of a sudden it zeroed in to the door.

The boys tensed at his side as the door unlocked and armed guards flooded in.

The Rowdy Three moved together, dodging and swinging and stealing weapons to use against them. Martin ducked under a blow meant for his head, swinging back around with his stolen baton and making contact low, the Blackwing guard's knees folding with it. The second blow was hard enough to rattle his brains good. Not that they hadn't done it to him a time or two.

Every man they sent against the Rowdy Three, they left sprawled out in the floor. As it became evident that Project Incubus were playing with them, more came in, working the three apart and splitting them up with the force of numbers.

Martin loosed a low growl as several more joined the collection he had against him and the light caught a knife in one hand. They weren't here to bounce them around a little. They were there to hurt.

His movements were quick, explosive, as he dodged, but no matter his strength or his speed Martin was still only one man. He felt hands take hold of his wrists. He pulled free once only to double over as a blow to the middle drove the air out of his lungs and someone caught hold of his hair to pull his head back.

"Martin!" he heard his name from across the room and he slammed back, hearing a nose break behind him.

Hands came at him from all directions, holding him down. He tried to jerk and kick free, but there were too many of them, and the one with the knife was coming for him. "Guess that sense of danger isn't as strong as they thought," he chuckled and Martin snarled.

There were too many guards around him to see either of his brothers, but Cross got the one wielding the knife low and hard, sending him stumbling to the ground and brown eyes met blue as the weapon skidded away.

Martin howled and Cross shouted as they worked together on the rest of them, passing them around and breaking bones. Gripps joined shortly after and they finally heard the vents opening to let the gas in.

He woke sometime later. How long it was he had no idea. Martin was flat on his back in their room, his brothers groaning as they came to next to him.

"What was the _point_?" Cross grumbled, slamming the palm of his hand down hard against the floor.

"Hurt us," Gripps rasped. "Just wanna hurt us."

"Thought we weren't no good to them dead."

"They were testing our ability to sense danger," Martin managed, his jaw aching as he spoke. He reached up to let long fingers explore the damage done.

"The guy comin' at you was gonna kill you, Martin."

Cross' voice was serious and Martin looked over to him, finding his younger brother watching him carefully. He sat up slowly, leaning forward to brace himself against his bent knees and caught Cross' dark gaze to hold it. "Might have if you hadn't been there. Thank you."

A slow smile started to perk Cross' lips and he ducked his head a little. "What are brothers for, right?"

Martin's lips quirked at the corners. "Right."

* * *

Notes: I apologize for any glaring typos in this... I finished writing the chapter and edited while sick, so I'm hoping I didn't miss anything O.o

The boys are going to get an interesting visitor to their room in the next chapter though. Anyone want to make a guess?


	28. Automatic Truths

**Automatic Untruths**

He couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Not that they weren't always being watched, but generally not in their room after lights out. There were guards outside the door, of course, and cameras in the hall, but they hadn't been able to keep any listening devices active in the Rowdy Three's room.

It would have been easier to brush off to the paranoia this place brought on if it hadn't been abrupt and inconsistent. Sometimes it was a low buzzing late at night or the feeling of someone watching in the wee hours of the morning. No one else seemed to notice, though, and if they did they didn't say anything.

There were a stretch of days with nothing and Martin had about decided that it was his own imagination. This place would drive him crazy if he let it, and he'd resolved a long time ago that his sanity was his own.

He woke to the buzzing again. His eyes popped open and he found himself staring straight up at the ceiling from his place on the mattresses spread out on the floor. He blinked hard, rubbing his eyes, and turning to his right to reach for his glasses set on the floor there.

Martin came flying off the pallet at the sight of the strange yellow-green eyes that met his in the dark, his sharp curse and flailing limbs bringing grumbling complaints from his brothers and causing the girl that had been standing over him to tilt her head curiously. "What the-? Who the hell are you?" he sputtered out, sleep addled mind trying to figure out how he hadn't smelled her. Even now, mostly awake, he didn't.

"Mona!" Cross said from behind him and the girl grinned.

"Hello," she greeted. "Is he the third? The one you spoke about?"

"Yeah, that's Martin. Where've you been?" Gripps asked, sitting up on the far end. "We ain't seen you in _months_!"

"They found new ways to lock me up, but I got around it." The girl - Mona? - giggled as she leaned in, sending the blond Rowdy leaning back away from her. "Hello, Martin."

He wasn't a fan of being the last to know what was going on. "No one gonna explain the weird girl in our room?" he demanded.

"Mona's a shapeshifter," Cross explained. "She gets out and visits different rooms. She found us while you were…. when they had you."

"I looked for you, but they have many people in solitary and I didn't know what you looked like. I do now," she said cheerfully. "For next time."

"Ain't gonna be no next time," Martin growled and the girl frowned.

"Blackwing hurts us where it can. It hurt them, so they'll try it again."

He didn't like the certainty in her voice, but the slight downturn to her lips made him think that she spoke from experience. If Blackwing had been trying to harness their powers, there was no telling what they would do with a shapeshifter.

"Whatcha been up to?" Gripps tried again, finally gaining a shift of those strange coloured eyes.

"Tests, mostly," she said with a shrug. "They left a vent open last week. I've been visiting at night."

"Why don't you get all the way out?" Martin asked. "I mean, if you can shift through the vents, can't you get outside the base?"

"If the Universe wanted me to," Mona said with another small shrug. "For now, I am here. Like you. Until we're not." She pointed at Cross' tattoo. "You got ink!"

"Snatched it right off a guy," Cross said proudly. "You think you might get us more? Bet Gripps'd give you one if you want."

She turned her nose up. "Not for me. For you."

"Yeah, it's just-"

Cross didn't get the words out before she shrank suddenly and Martin saw the source of the buzzing as she fluttered around, her new form some sort of bug with beating wings. He squinted into the darkness and grabbed for his glasses just in time to see her zip into the vents and disappear. The boys all sat there in silence for a long moment before Gripps flopped back down to sleep, Cross doing the same. Martin just kept staring, wondering if that had become normal while he had been in solitary confinement, but then he shook his head. What was normal anyway?

* * *

It was days before she returned, but when she did she came bearing gifts. A bubble melted into a girl with a bag draped over her shoulder and Gripps and Cross looked like it might be Christmas with the way they left the card game the boys had been playing.

Mona grinned as she delivered a skullcap to Gripps and a whole bottle of ink and some needles to Cross. She handed the bag over to them and turned her strange gaze on Martin who hadn't budged yet. In one quick move a pack of cigarettes seemed to just appear in her hand and she tossed them over.

Martin caught it on reflex, staring at the perfect little prize. It had been weeks since he'd had a smoke, the new protocols making it much more difficult for him to lift packs from unsuspecting lab techs or guards. This one wasn't open. It was all his.

He looked up with a thank you in his lips, but was startled to see the face of a guard staring down at him. He lurched back and Mona instantly looked like herself again, the shift so quick his eyes couldn't register it properly, and she grinned. "I can take whatever I want if I look like them," she said, producing a nice zippo lighter as he packed the cigarettes down and tried to regain his composure, shoving the instinct to fight down. She was a friend. She'd been a friend to his brothers so there was no reason to distrust her, even if she was teasing him.

She handed him the lighter and he felt the first rush of nicotine through his system in some weeks. It worked through him, easing tattered nerves and lifting his mood. Finally, loosing the first breath of smoke in the form of a happy sigh, he cracked an eye open to look at her. "I don't get it. You can look like anything. Why do you stay?"

Mona hummed softly, taking a seat on the floor and she picked up Cross' cards, frowned, and chose Gripps' instead. "Why do you?" she asked after Martin had picked up his own again.

"Not that we want to, but those locks n' the gas make it hard to beat."

"When the Universe wants you free, it will open the door. Same for me."

Martin blinked over his glasses. "Ain't the universe keepin' is here. It's Riggins n' Priest. Blackwing."

"They're moving in the same stream the rest of us are. Some fight it, but the moment you let yourself be pulled along, things work out as they're supposed to."

Well that sounded like a load of Riggins' bullshit Martin hadn't missed. "That's just what they tell you to keep you from actin' out," he huffed.

"Maybe, but does that automatically make it an untruth?" She pulled another card from the pile and grinned, producing them. "I think I won?"

Martin stared at the cards before snorting, tossing his own down. "Yeah ya did," he chuckled and watched her stand. "You comin' back?"

She shrugged again, her smile brighter than anyone's should have been in that place as she shifted, a puff of smoke all that showed her movement to the vent to exit.

"Look at what all she brought!" Cross called out, dragging Martin's attention over.

Gripps held up the ink bottle. "Time to pay up for yours," he said with a grin.

Martin chuckled, unfolding himself from his seat on the floor and trying to push Mona's words out of his mind to focus on the excitement rolling off of his brothers in waves.

* * *

Notes: So I really liked writing Mona. I think she'll be back.


	29. Things of Nightmares

**Things of Nightmares**

There were a few things that still haunted Martin from his time there at Blackwing. His mother's death, being shot at point blank range by Priest, and his six months of starvation and isolation were just a few. The one that still woke him up screaming from time to time was from earlier than all of that though. It was from his first week there when he had refused to feed the way Blackwing wanted him to and they had strapped him down and drained him. There were nights that he could still feel it. The cold metal against his back, the straps biting into his wrists, and the machine that felt like it was ripping him apart from the inside out. They had only used it on him once, but that had been enough - more than enough - to set the dread deep.

"No," he breathed as the door to the lab slid open and he saw where this experiment was going. He started to fight hard. "No! I'm not gonna go back into it!"

He got a hard hit into one guard's jaw, but hey already had a good hold on him and finally wrestled him down. The restraints slid into place, two at his ankles, two at his wrists, and they locked one over his chest as well. "You know what happens here. You know! What the hell is the _point_?" he snarled, hating the desperation in his own voice.

"Same as it has been, from what I understand," a familiar voice drawled and Martin looked around, a deep growl escaping him at the sight of Priest's face. "To find a way to replicate what you are." He reached down and patted Martin's cheek. "I don't understand the science behind it, but from what they've told me they rigged this to store what it drains from you. Now, once they've done that they can put it into someone else an-"

"You people really do take this vampire thing way too far," Martin snapped, trying to pull away.

Priest was enjoying every inch of his discomfort though. "They are a curious bunch. Me? I'm just here to make sure you don't try anything."

"Thought it was 'cause you liked to see us hurt."

"There is that little perk as well," Priest chuckled. "Just be grateful they chose you and not one o' your friends, hmm?"

A lab assistant stepped over and removed Martin's glasses. Fear hung over him like a haze, but he couldn't even enjoy it. He felt the prick of a needle being fit into his arm and he tried to steady his breathing. This was happening. Nothing he could do to stop it, but he could give Priest a little less pleasure in it by hiding the panic he felt.

The door slid open again and a set of guards were bringing a woman in. She was small, dark haired, and terrified. Martin could have seen that even if he hadn't smelled it, but there was something strange about her. Stranger than he'd seen, anyway.

She let out a shriek of pain and terror, convulsing suddenly as they strapped her to a machine that looked very similar to the one they had fitted Martin into. Her fear smelled odd now, like a cake that had been left in the oven too long and had started to burn.

"Esther?" the lead scientist called out to her, moving into her line of sight. "Esther, what do you see?"

"Everything's on fire," she managed. "Please, make it stop. You promised you would make it stop!"

Martin felt a chill run through him as the scientist looked over to the tech still hovering. "Now."

The blond Rowdy barely had time to tense before as the machine was switched on. It was different than before, though no less painful than he remember. A few seconds in and he could have sworn that they'd driven a hundred knives into him. His back arched and a scream echoed through the room, the sound like claws on his own throat. He fought against the restraints, but it did nothing, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thought he heard Priest giggle to his side.

All at once the roaring in his ears came down to a buzz, and he could feel the cool metal on his back. His chest heaved, trying to draw enough breath in to sustain consciousness, but he could feel the darkness closing in around him.

A hand landed on his shoulder, jerking him back towards consciousness and he felt a pained shudder run through him as Priest tilted his head so that he was looking at the woman they'd brought in. "She's a special one. Turned herself in hoping for answers. Her brain registers inputs wrong. We think, though, that it could leave her more receptive."

"You're gonna… kill her," Martin managed.

"Might. Guess we'll see."

Martin tried to focus on her, but between the pain and his poor eyesight he was having a hard time doing that. The woman choked and cried out and he finally tried to turn away, only to find Priest still on his other side, a sick smile of satisfaction tilting his lips up. Twisted bastard. All he had to do was latch on and maybe this time he could finish him off.

"Don't even think about it, Martin. Not if you don't want Cross or Gripps to be next."

"We're losing her!" one of the techs yelled and Martin heard the sound of one of their machines shrieking out an alarm. He'd warned them. He'd tried. Whatever they were couldn't be made. They just were.

And then it went quiet again. The shouting stopped and the only sound was the steady alarm on the heart monitor, and even that went quiet after a moment. Martin loosed a shuddering breath, his eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling.

"Looks like you were right, Martin," Priest chuckled. "You killed her."

A pained cough escaped him rather than a response and he gave up the struggle for consciousness and let the darkness win as it pulled him under. At least it wouldn't hurt for a while.


	30. Share the Pain

**Share the Pain**

The first thing Martin noticed was that he was cold. Cold and hungry. He curled into himself, his fingers digging into the fabric of the mattress beneath him. It didn't seem to help though. All it did was cause someone to stir a few feet away.

"Martin?"

The blond curled a little tighter into himself, the sense of sadness - no, deeper than that. It was more painful and more raw than that - clawed at him as painfully as the hunger did and he struggled to remember why. Then it hit him. The experiment, the way they had drained him and tried to force his energy into another being. She hadn't been like him. Different from normal folk, sure, that much he could tell, but not like him, and it had killed her. He could still see those lifeless eyes, still hear Priest's strange little giggle as he had spoken to the barely conscious Rowdy…. The words had seeped in, battering around his head and leaking into his thoughts. Guilt. It wasn't sadness, it was guilt.

"Martin? You awake, man?" the voice came again, and this time it was accompanied by a hand on his shoulder.

Martin jerked away hard, his voice catching in his throat.

Cross shuffled so he could lean down in his line of sight and Gripps took a seat on the mattress behind him. "How bad this time?"

He couldn't answer, couldn't explain. Every time he tried to form some sort of sentence his thoughts swirled in and around in each other until all he could see was the woman. Esther, they'd called her. Priest had said it was him that had killed her, and while part of him knew it had been Blackwing, Priest had a way of working his words in deep.

"What'd those bastards do this time?" Cross asked and Martin felt the subtle pull of their link as the younger Rowdy tried to explore what was wrong.

Martin shut the mental door so hard that Cross actually rocked back like he'd dealt him a physical blow. He shook his head hard. "What the hell, man? We're trying to help you!"

"No," Martin croaked out, his throat still raw from his earlier screams. He buried his face in the pillow. He didn't want to deal with this, and he wouldn't wish the twisted up feelings on anyone he cared about. Certainly not Cross and Gripps.

There was a moment of silence and he thought they might be willing to give him some space. He needed space, he thought. That way he could sort through the situation and find…. he wasn't sure. Something more solid.

He heard Gripps stand behind him and rummage through a corner they kept the bare few things they didn't want the guards finding - mostly presents from Mona - and then the footsteps drew closer until he took a seat next to a still muttering Cross. Gripps didn't say a word, though. Martin heard the clicking of a lighter and the certain smell of one of his cigarettes being lit. He finally looked up to find the lit offering being extended.

"You can sit up and smoke it or let it burn down, but ya know I ain't gonna smoke it and neither is Cross."

"Nope. Hate 'em," Cross agreed.

"So it'll go to waste if ya don't."

Martin glared. Gripps was more clever than anyone at Blackwing gave him credit for. When he wanted something, he zeroed in on it and got it more times than not.

The blond huffed irritably and sat up, taking the cigarette and raising it to his lips to pull the smoke in, risking a glare at his brothers and Gripps looked very proud of himself. Cross, on the other hand, was still sulking. "We just wanna help, Martin."

Martin sighed, the smoke curling out with it and he met their youngest brother's gaze. "Ain't mad at you, you know. Just…. You didn't have to see it, no reason for you to live it through me." They didn't look convinced and he squeezed his eyes closed. They weren't going to let it go.

Slowly, carefully, he let the walls he'd built up in his mind drop and he cringed when he felt their reaction. They keyed in on his emotions and both Gripps and Cross tensed as soon as they did, hit by the flood let through the gates. Martin hadn't sorted through them himself, so he knew that the confusion only added to the intensity. He'd warned them. He'd warned Priest too. No one listened.

Cross leaned forward suddenly, all of his previous irritation washed away, and wrapped his arms around Martin's hunched form in a tight hug from the side. Gripps moved to the other side to mirror the movement, and Martin had a brother on either side, holding onto him like they were afraid if they let go he might just vanish.

The boys sat there for a long moment before Cross tightened his hug just a little. "Not your fault. Whatever they did, it's not your fault."

He wasn't asking for details, Martin realized. They knew how he was feeling, and that's all that mattered. They wanted him to share his pain with them rather than shoulder it alone. That was family. They stood by each other, protecting each other in any way that they could. This place made it hard - hell, impossible sometimes - to physically protect one another, but they did the best they could. That's all they could do.

The blond Rowdy let out an unsteady breath before finally stubbing his cigarette out on the hard floor and flicking it away so that he could reach both hands up to hold onto the arms that were fastened around him. "Gonna be a day we burn this place to the ground," he murmured hoarsely.

"Gonna take 'em all down."

"Every last one of 'em."

"Not one left."

Martin felt his lips perk just a little as they echoed each other in agreement and leaned into the hold around him, trying to let himself feel safe if only for the moment. It wasn't going to make everything better. As long as they were Blackwing's prisoners things would always be bad, but there were moments. They were together and they would always protect each other in any way that they knew how. They didn't have to face it alone.

* * *

Notes: Mona's back in the next chapter and I have decided I adore her. In case you wanted to know.


	31. Ready

**Ready**

There had been something slightly off for days, but none of them could place it. It was like seeing something out of the corner of your eye, but turning to find nothing there. Martin's first thought had been that they'd tried to fit a camera or a listening device into the room, but a good power surge that took out all the lights one evening would have taken care of that if there had been any, yet the feeling remained. It was a tickle in the back of his mind that just kept returning with no real answer until one day the chair in the far corner of the room - the one that he'd assumed had always just been there - moved.

All three boys stopped, Martin tilting his head to the side and a low growl rumbled from his throat. He crouched down a little, ready to spring, and he heard Cross and Gripps ready themselves for a fight behind him. Whatever new craziness Blackwing was introducing into their tiny little world was about to get the beatdown of a lifetime.

He couldn't be sure if the laugh came before or after the chair morphed into a figure they'd come to know well enough, but logic would say after. Not that logic had a whole hell of a lot to do with anything there. Mona's giggles filled the room even as the Rowdy Three eased their stances, relief spreading through them. "You should see your faces!" she chirped, her strange eyes bright with mischief.

Gripps and Cross immediately shifted into excitement. "How long you been there?"

"Have you been a chair this whole time?"

"No, that chair's been there."

"Yeah, how long? When did the chair get here?"

"It's been there…"

Mona giggled again. "I like chairs. I was a chair for years once. Four legs are more comfortable than two."

"You been spyin' on us?" Martin asked, but he couldn't quite keep the edge in his voice. He knew the answer by this point.

Mona winked at him. "You're not as interesting as you'd like to think."

He snorted, reaching over to ruffle her hair and she pulled a pack of cigarettes from the bag she was carrying. "Forgiven?"

"Always," the blond Rowdy answered with a grin and took the offered gift.

"And I brought the ink for the other side of your head, Gripps," she told him, motioning to the half finished set they'd begun a few weeks before.

"You just been sittin' there with it?"

She shrugged. "Time gets away from me sometimes."

"You're gonna have them all tied up in knots over where you got to this time," Martin mused as he flicked the flint wheel on the zippo she'd given him some time before.

"Icing on the pancakes," she answered with a grin.

"Not sure that's how it goes."

"And you know better?"

He shrugged, inhaling deeply. This was how it went with her. She popped in and out. He thought there were probably times that he didn't even know she was there. She both seemed to crave social interaction and abhor it all at once, so she came and went as she pleased. She did tend to bring gifts, which was a plus.

Martin had settled down on the floor as his brothers looked over the ink, Cross trying to describe what he wanted tattooed across his hand and Gripps telling him he was owed his first. The two squabbled good naturedly and Martin leaned forward, his arms resting against bent knees and his eyes closed as he focused on their voices and the smoke curling from his nose as he loosed a satisfied breath.

He startled from his quiet moment as someone grabbed one of his limp hands. Blue eyes popped open to see Mona had taken a silent seat in front of him with her legs crossed and a needle in hand. She blinked innocently at him as he eyes her, her intentions cleared. "Looks like fun," she said simply and he shrugged, giving her the go ahead. Why not?

Mona dipped the needle into the ink that she had brought for them and started in, the needle pressing through the top layers of skin and leaving traces of ink behind. "I was a table recently," she said after a collection of minutes.

Martin tilted her head when she didn't continue. "Yeah?"

"For maybe…. I don't know how long, but it was in the their break room."

"Their what?"

"It's a room they have when they're not working." The needle nicked his wrist bone and Martin flinched a little. "Sorry." She shifted the it a little and he watched the needle leave strange symbols in his skin that he'd never seen before as she continued. "They talk a lot. Some things are boring and I don't listen, but sometimes it's interesting."

Martin peered over the top of his glasses at her. "Yeah? How so?"

She looked up for the first time since she had started, amusement dancing in her strange eyes. "Like security. Like times when guards change and blind spots."

"We know all those. They fixed 'em so we can't get out."

"Fixed some, but they can't fix them all."

Martin took a long drag off his cigarette. "Why're you tellin' me? Thought you thought the Universe had to agree with our escape or some shit?"

She shrugged a little. "If the Universe wants you free, you'll get out. If it doesn't, you won't."

"But you're willin' to give destiny a little shove, huh?"

She shrugged again, but the amusement hadn't faded. Martin's mind was spinning wildly, his gaze flickering to his brothers that were chattered obliviously, still arguing over who would get what tattoo. Mona could go anywhere, become anything. If she were willing to help, they might not have to worry about the repercussions of another failed escape attempt. They wouldn't be forced into any horrible tests or forced to watch the life leave some other poor soul's eyes. Martin shuddered at the memory. His time in Blackwing had left him numb to a lot, but that would always haunt him.

"This screws up 'n Priest'll go after the boys," he said lowly.

"Nothing's gained without a little risk," she mused.

"Didn't say I wasn't willing to risk, just that we gotta be careful. We stand out, you don't." His mind swirled with ideas, half formed, discarded, and another one would shove its way to the forefront. "You bring us stuff. Could you bring disguises?"

She blinked and tilted her head a little. "Sure. I can open your door too, but you would need to move from there. If the Universe-"

"Yeah yeah. If the Universe wants us out, we'll get out," he huffed. "This could work."

"And if it doesn't, I can finish your new tattoo," Mona said cheerfully, pulling his attention down to the small symbols that she'd left all up and down his wrist.

"What do they… mean?" he tried to ask, but she was gone. Or at least the girl was, replaced by a balloon floating up to the ceiling.

Martin watched her for a long moment, wondering if she was planning to stay or if she'd shift again and take a trip elsewhere. It could be that day or a month from then when they'd see her next, but he'd be ready. If it meant his and his brother's freedom, he'd be ready.


	32. Jailbreak

**Jailbreak**

"We look like shit," Cross grumbled and Martin smirked just a little, slinging an arm around the taller Rowdy's shoulders.

"Yeah, but it's gonna get us out the door."

"How are they _not_ gonna recognize us? They see us every day," Gripps pointed out as he eyed himself up and down in the length mirror in front of the three.

The mirror shifted and suddenly Mona was standing there. "You'd be surprised what they miss." As quickly as she'd changed into herself, she shifted into an exact replica of Gripps, then to Cross who grinned and motioned to see if she'd follow like the mirror, and finally to Martin before easing into the form of a Blackwing guard. "It's easier to ignore strange things happening all around than face them and admit they're happening," she said, her voice leaving a male guard's mouth.

Martin offered her a lopsided grin and tucked the hat over his smoothed down mohawk. "You sure 'bout the timing?"

Mona sighed heavily, shrinking back into her slight form. "I _told_ you I was."

"Okay, okay." The blond nodded, raising his hands a little in mock surrender and she shot him a withering look. He smirked in response, reaching up to pop the collar of the stiff shirt just a little higher to cover his tattoo scrawled across his neck. "You ready, boys?"

Cross and Gripps broke into wide grins and Mona nodded, shrinking to a small bug to fly through the vents.

Martin shoved down the nervousness that bubbled in his chest as best as he could. No reason to let it spread between the three of them. This could work. This had to work. If it didn't, if they got caught, he wasn't just risking himself - that he couldn't handle without a second thought - but he was risking his brothers. Priest knew how to hit him where it hurt. This had to work.

He was nearly bouncing with anticipation when the locks slid open from the opposite side of the door. Mona stood on the other side, wearing the face of a guard, and motioned. "You know the way out, just like we talked about. It's shift change, so it won't look too odd."

Martin nodded and halted his first step forward. "Thanks."

She shrugged. "We'll see if the Universe is ready to let you out of your cage. For what it's worth, I hope so."

"Me too," he murmured and pulled the hat down that a little lower over his face. He could feel the boys' coiled energy at either side, but they understood what was at stake.

Guards moved through the halls, but none of them paid even a second glance towards the Rowdy Three as they struggled to keep their steps steady. Martin pulled in steady breaths, trying to push the calm out to his brothers over their link and keep them on task. They knew the route out. They'd known it for years. The problem was always in the fact that Blackwing would bring the full force of their system down on them if they knew they were escaping.

"It's working!" Cross whispered and Martin nudged him hard in the side to quiet him down, risking a quick glance to his right to make sure that a set of real guards hadn't heard. They were too caught up in their own conversation to notice anything else and they turned the corner.

Martin nearly slammed on the breaks as a distinct smell washed over him, but he managed to keep his footing steady and his nerves in check in time to peek under the brim of his hat that was pulled down to the top of his glasses. At the end of the hall was a man he'd once thought he knew well.

Riggins was accompanied by a guard and a young boy. It was hard to get a good look at the kid, but he wore a jumpsuit that looked like the ones that Blackwing subjects were given when they were brought in. He felt nervous and seemed to be chattering ninety to nothing about something or the other. He had Riggins' attention for now, but there was no way he was going to hold it if all three walked past the man that had dragged them into this together. He'd know, and then their escape would be blown.

"Look," Cross hissed in his ear.

"Riggins," Gripps said from the other side.

The message was clear enough. They wanted to go to town on him, but Martin gave a brief jerk of his head and redirected them down a side hallway instead. No risks, no matter how fun it might be to run Riggins' world upside down. His brothers relied on him to be the focused one and he couldn't let them down.

Gripps shifted first, Cross pausing for the briefest of moments before slipping after Gripps. Riggins was almost on them as Martin started to follow, and the boy with him - well look at that. It was the same kid they'd found hidden in a closet a couple of years before - and the young teen happened to look over as he continued to rattle on, faltering half a beat when he saw the Rowdy peeking out from under a guard's cap. Martin gave him a brief wink and smirk before he slipped into the side hall, the door sliding closed behind him.

There was a rush of adrenaline with the near- disaster and he found himself grinning despite the situation. His brothers were giddy with the contagious excitement and Martin couldn't tell where it had begun and where it stopped between the three of them. It didn't matter. They were almost there, and once they were out they could howl and cheer and shout to their hearts' content.

They hit the exit and no one stopped them. It took every inch of self control not to break into an open run across the open space. They were free. Really, truly free.

The spike in the air that screamed danger came just before the whistle of a bullet and Martin's hat went flying from his head, a rip along the top showing just how close it'd come to killing him. He froze for the briefest of moments before shoving both of his brothers towards the still-open gate. No one was there. They could still make it. They just had to be faster. They could still make it.

He didn't see it and none of them sensed it, but the electric fence threw all three Rowdies off their feet and to the hard concrete.

Martin hit with enough force that he lost his glasses as he rolled, his clothing sizzling and burning and his head aching. He groaned as he tried to reach forward for them, fingers stretched out, but a boot came down on them, crushing frames and lenses under the heave sole. He found himself staring for a beat before squinting up to see Osmund Priest standing over him.

"Martin," Priest greeted, a smile twisting up his lips. "A few of my boys 'n I had a bet goin' on how far you'd get. I'll admit, I thought the fear of what I'd do to yours woulda made you hesitate, but no. You are a determined sort. I'll keep that in mind."

He knew. He'd known they were trying to escape and this had been… a game. That's all this was to Priest. He'd won, and now they'd suffer for it. "I did this," Martin managed. "They were just followin' my lead."

"Oh I do know that," Priest chuckled. He stepped forward and Martin heard the crunch of his glasses under the heavy, military-issued boots. The older man crouched down so that he was closer to eye level with where the Rowdy was still laid out on the hard ground, his ears ringing from a shock of electricity stronger than even he could absorb. "And I want you to remember that everything that happens to them from here on out is your fault. Through every scream, every cry of pain-" he reached forward, taking ahold of the strip of longer hair on top of Martin's head and yanking him at a painful angle to look up - "this is _your_ fault."

* * *

Notes: I'm really bummed that I won't get to watch live tomorrow night, but it definitely makes it easier to deal with for the fact that I'll be on my NYC vacation :D

Not sure if I'll be able to update while I'm gone. If not, see you guys when I get back!


	33. The Cage

**The Cage**

He hadn't remembered them gassing him, but that groggy, achy feeling he had running through him was the gas hangover from hell he hated. A soft groan escaped thin lips and Martin tried to stretch out, finding that he couldn't. His long legs were still bent at the knee as his feet pressed against an unmoving wall, his back against one opposite. With a lot of effort he pried his eyes open.

He was in a cage. An actual cage, solid and made of metal, with bar along the top to let air in and, presumably, let someone see him.

Memories flooded back all at once. They hadn't gassed him. He and his brothers had been hit with an electrical shock that had been too much to absorb. Priest had been waiting, and after he had stood over him to gloat - breaking his glasses while he was at it - he'd made sure Martin wasn't about to fight back.

Another groan escaped him as he straightened his back, feeling the pull on his battered ribs where Priest had slammed his heavy boots into him as he had laid there on the ground, trying to regain his bearings. Once, twice, three times… Martin had lost count. The last blow he clearly remembered had come when he had tried to push himself up off the ground to find the boot slamming hard into his back, shoving him face first back down.

Long fingers reached up to explore damage done. His nose was tender, as were a few other places along his face. He took stock, feeling muscles protest his movement as he shifted, and he froze at one point, stifling a yelp as he wrapped an arm around his ribs, cursing through gritted teeth as his head thunked lightly against the solid cage wall behind him.

No one stirred outside though and Martin buckled down on his determination. Slowly he pulled himself to his feet, his left knee giving under him once so that he had to shift his weight to the right and use the wall of the cage to stay steady as he peered out of the small window.

He could see outside, but without his glasses everything was shrouded in a sort of haze. He could make out shapes and colours for the most part, but it was dark around them, the shadows adding extra layers to the scene and making it difficult for his eyes to focus. He closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the bars and inhaled deeply. Smells swirled together and he tried to focus on them. The coppery smell of danger was almost overwhelming, but after a moment he was able to sense his brothers through it,even if they weren't right there. His brothers and something else… Dangerous, but different.

A hand slammed hard against one of the blind sides to the cage and Martin jumped back so suddenly that he put weight on his bad knee and fell shoulder first into the other side of the container. He growled and cursed, eyes popping back open and Priest's smirking face was close enough for him to make it out through the bars. "Good mornin'," the maniac greeted. "Thought maybe I'd killed ya in there you've been so quiet. Didn't make a peep the whole trip."

"Trip?" Martin echoed.

"You boys got transferred for further testing. No more Riggins to protect ya now, boy."

Martin shuddered, trying to push down the panic. Panic wouldn't help him. It wouldn't do anything but hurt. "Where are we?"

"Another base. Deep, deep in the ground. Hope you got a good look at the sun. You ain't gonna see it for some time."

"Where are Cross an' Gripps?"

"Oh, we've already started on them. Surprised we can't hear 'em from here. They've been screamin' somethin' fierce."

Martin snarled, slamming his fists against the door hard enough to make it rattle around him. "If you hurt them-"

Priest reached out of his line of vision and the entire cage lit up with electricity. Martin tried to pull it in, but electric shock was different than neurological energy by far and it didn't take long to overwhelm him. A scream tore from his throat as he slammed back into the unyielding wall, convulsing as it surged through him.

He wasn't sure how long it lasted, but finally his knees were able to give way and he sank to the floor, gasping and twitching.

He heard Priest chuckle and tap the outer wall. "These are a new prototype. Wasn't sure how well they'd work on you. They warned me that you three had developed some sort of resistance to it, but looks to me that they just needed to crank up the voltage. Whatcha think, Martin?" The Rowdy struggled, but he couldn't pull enough air in to curse him. "What's that? Can't hear ya down there. You're gonna have to speak up."

Martin dragged a difficult breath in, his chest aching with the effort. "'m gonna kill you," he spat out.

"From in there? Not likely." He hit the switch again and Martin screamed.

* * *

Notes: I feel like a terrible person for such a short update after such a stretch between, but I'm hoping to write some tonight, so hopefully I'll have some more up soon!

Good news for those that have been asking: we're working towards Vogel.


	34. Break

**Break**

It was becoming difficult to know where their screams ended and his began. There had always been a jolt over their link when another Rowdy was in pain, but this was taking it to a whole new level that none of them wanted to be at.

Martin could feel each time one of his brothers' anxiety spiked or the anger that flooded in with the constant abuse. Every time they fought back, though, every time they mouthed off, it got worse. It could always get worse.

There were no rooms at this location, only cages. Guards would hit them hard with electricity whenever they were going to move them or pull them from the cages. Or if they just wanted to hear them scream. Martin was fairly sure that was their only goal at times.

Sleep didn't come, even when the lights were low. Every sound might signal another session coming their way and Martin found himself jolting awake at every heel scraping against the concrete floor or clanking of the keys that some of the guards carried.

He only saw Cross and Gripps every once and awhile, but he was always close enough to feel them. To smell the fear rolling off. Most days the focus was on them, no matter how hard Martin fought to bring it around again. He'd been behind the break out. He had. Not them. They'd just followed their big brother. Nothing seemed to work though. He would scream and howl until his throat was raw and they let him. They seem to enjoy it. Like they were desperate to break him. Maybe they were succeeding.

Days blended together and Martin felt like he was in a void with only the pain and his brothers' screams for company. He'd thought his solitary confinement had pushed him close to the edge, but this was worse. Much worse. He could feel his own sanity teetering on the edge.

 _I'm not crazy. Not crazy. Not crazy….._

A hard, open-palm hit to the outer side of the cage made him jump and Martin looked up, squinting hard to see Priest's smirking face appear there. "You sure?"

It took a moment for the blond Rowdy to put together that he must have been mumbling out loud. Rage flooded through him instantly and he sprang to his feet, slamming hard against the cage and snarling dangerously. It was the only warning that he gave before feeding from Priest. He didn't care what the man did to him in return. It was always bad. Sure, it could get worse. He'd proven it could, but he just wanted to make him hurt for as long as he could. Just a taste of the pain he was putting his brothers through.

The electricity hit him hard, making it impossible to feed off of Priest and Martin slammed back into the wall of his cage, held upright by the surge until it finally cut. His knees buckled and he heard Priest give a breathless laugh. "I'll admit, I'm gonna miss that."

"Finally decide to kill me?" Martin rasped.

"Not that easy."

"Then what?"

There wasn't an answer. Priest just tapped the side of the cage again and Martin heard the sound of machinery turning, lifting the cage with him inside of it. He slid as it tilted and a deep growl escaped him.

He didn't bother trying to stand to see where they were transporting him. There wasn't any point with the way the cage was rocking and tilting. They hauled him around like the animal they thought he was and Martin set his back against the wall and his bare feet were pressed against the opposite corners to try to keep his balance as it moved. Finally, it jolted to a stop and the crane dropped his cage hard.

Martin grunted and bounced as he came to rest, still trying to brace himself. Everything hurt as he tensed and waited, letting his eyes slip closed. As he did, the smells around him became more defined and he thought maybe his brothers were closer than usual. It was difficult to be relieved by their presence when recent events taught him it just meant a new form of torture.

There was a loud sound as the lock on the door to his cage released. He sat there for a long moment, eyeing it suspiciously and waiting.

Nothing happened for a long moment and Martin shifted to stand. He was halfway to his feat when he heard a crash and the sound of Cross cursing that followed.

"No no no no no! Not gonna trick us again. We know. We see it. Not gonna lie to us again!" the dark haired Rowdy yelled.

Martin was at the door in an instant, finding two cages identical to his with open doors and his brothers at them. He squinted, not able to make out their details in the dark and without his glasses, but his movement seemed to draw their attention.

"Yo, Martin. Where they been keepin' you?" Gripps asks. "You've been gone like-"

"Forever, man!" Cross cut him off before Gripps could start in on a number none of them wanted to hear. They'd been there too long.

When Martin didn't answer the question Gripps inched forward. "You okay?"

Blue eyes blinked hard, trying to focus. "Yeah," he grunted, knowing they'd see through the lie.

"Where are we, man?" Cross asked, waving his arms around as he spoke. "Little boxes to big boxes. Too many boxes I don't trust it!"

"It's Blackwing," Gripps said softly.

"Yeah."

Martin stepped forward and took in a deep breath. It smelled like metal all around them. If there was anything beyond that he couldn't tell.

"Where are we?" Cross asked again, this time a little softer, and as Martin looked back at him he was close enough for the older Rowdy to make out the bruises that lined his face and disappeared under his jumpsuit.

"Dunno," Martin admitted. "Cage within a cage."

"More boxes."

"Yeah."

A chill ran through the blond Rowdy as he moved a little unsteadily forward to one of the identical walls and pressed his fingers to it. He couldn't sense anything beyond it. Just a void. An endless void of nothingness that might have stretched on forever. He couldn't tell. It felt like it did though, and that left his chest tightening and his breathing a little unsteady as he pushed harder, desperate for something.

"Least we're together," Cross said from behind him and Martin broke with the efforts to turn. He had no idea where they were or what new level of hell Blackwing planned to put them through, but they were together. That was the only way any of them knew how to survive.

* * *

It was a transport container. The kind that someone might use to move a vehicle or something. It was more obvious once the doors opened, light flooding in and causing them all to wince. Martin thought Cross may have actually hissed at it.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the new lighting, and a moment more to remember that his glasses were still missing from his nose and that's why the soldiers moving in, weapons trained on them, remained blurry. Martin squinted at the figure that moved between them, the smell familiar even before the man opened his mouth.

"Those won't be necessary. You're not going to hurt anyone, are you boys?"

A low growl escaped the blond as Riggins moved towards him, his posture intentionally non- threatening. It was practiced. It was a lie. The guns aimed at them proved as much.

The real question was why he was there. Priest had said he was going to miss making Martin scream… Somehow they were being transferred back. He just had no idea why.

His brothers buzzed with pent up energy behind him, Cross muttering and Gripps threatening.

"Martin," Riggins greeted, focusing in on him, "you've been transported back to the main base. It goes without saying that this is contingent on your behavior. You'll be on a strict schedule, armed guards, surveillance. I want to be clear with you boys: there are no more chances after this. This is it."

"Can't threaten us with worse than Priest," Martin snapped, the other Rowdies echoing confirmations behind him.

"There's always worse," Riggins answered, and there was a whiff of sadness from him. "Welcome home, Project Incubus."

* * *

Notes: Sometimes I wonder what the boys would have been like without Blackwing. If they'd just found each other and supported each other. Could they have been a little more normal? Would they have bothered? I tend to think Martin's animalistic movements that often look like a wolf (and sometimes a cat, ya know, when the poor man just needs a little affection) may come from being treated like a caged animal for so long.

All I have to say is we need a S3 to know more about where these guys come from and their background. I love exploring possibility here, but I need it in canon!

Also, if you haven't signed the petition to get Netflix to pick up Dirk Gently for S3, go do that please!


	35. Then There Were Four

**Then There Were Four**

Their first night back the Rowdy Three spent huddled together, desperate to cling to the notion that at least they weren't alone anymore and that _maybe_ they wouldn't be hurt day in and day out. Maybe. None of them knew exactly how long they had been under Priest's "care," but they were all sure they never wanted to be again. No cage was good, but on the heels of the latest tortures, this seemed less terrible.

There were different faces everywhere they turned. There seemed to have been yet another turn over of staff while they were gone. They looked on the three Rowdies with perhaps just a little more indifference than the last set, but that was still better than the satisfaction Priest's people had gotten from making them scream.

It was nearly a week later when Martin caught the first whiff that something was different. He couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't… bad. At least he didn't think it was. That within itself was strange. Everything was always bad. He wasn't sure if he would know not-bad if it hit him in the face at this point in his life.

"Waiting's the _worst_ ," Cross grumbled from where he had sprawled out on the floor on his back, drawing absently in the air with one finger.

Martin peered over his new glasses from his place seated on top of the table - they'd told him to wait at it, not specifically in a chair, not that he would have bothered with it even if they had - in the middle of the room, his comment about worse things was cut off by something odd in the air. He straightened, tilting his head to the side a little, and watched his brothers catch the same drift in the air.

The locks came undone on the door and all three Rowdies tensed, ready to fight if they needed to, but the guards didn't seem to be focused on them as they entered. Four of them had one small boy held between them, one at each arm and two more at his feet, hauling him between them even as he kicked and squirmed and yelled. He managed to work one leg free, slamming one bare foot upward so that it knocked the guard in the throat. The kid was strong for being a pint-size.

One of the guards moved forward with a electrified baton and Martin was on his feet in an instant, the others moving in unison with him.

The room froze as Riggins entered, though, and called for a halt. Even the kid stopped, but his dark eyes narrowed dangerously when they didn't release him. Martin caught Riggins' gaze and held it for just a moment before the other man purposely broke it, turning instead to the boy who had begun to squirm again, a string of gibberish that sounded like threats rolling off of his tongue. "Jacob, we had a deal, didn't we?"

He stilled almost immediately and when Riggins motioned, the guards put him down. "Yeah," he mumbled as bare feet hit the floor.

"What's this about, Riggins?" Martin demanded, finally pulling the older man's attention back around. "Who's the kid?"

The kid in question turned, dark eyes latching on Martin and he felt unmistakable _click_. He hadn't felt it in years, not since Cross, but there it was and just like that they had a new brother. A little brother, so much younger than any of them had been when Blackwing had brought them in. It shook the blond Rowdy to his core as the fear and the confusion and the anger flooded in, but mixed in with all of that was something else. A sense of belonging. He felt it too.

"I thought so," Riggins mused and Martin's icy gaze shifted back to him.

"Whatcha tryin' to pull, man?" Gripps demanded.

"Ain't funny. We ain't laughin'!" Cross yelled, bouncing up on the balls of his feet and motioning wildly enough that a couple of the guards aimed their weapons.

"Easy now, boys. No need to set a bad example, is there?" Riggins asked, his hands out in a motion that he must have thought calmed them down. It didn't do shit other than make Martin mad.

"You bring a pint-sized kid in here and expect us to just roll over 'n play good?" the blond snarled. "What's the angle?"

"Jacob came in for the same reason you did, Martin: to find answers."

"Yeah, what lies you feed him, huh? What family'd you take him from?"

"We're going to help him."

"Like you've _helped_ us?"

Riggins gave a small snort. "Would you have preferred I left him with Mr Priest?"

Priest. Priest had brought him in. Martin had known that the maniac was _hunting_ , as he liked to call it, when he wasn't sitting around and enjoying their screams, but he had had no idea that Priest had been after someone as young as this kid. His shoulders fell at the thought, gaze sweeping over the boy and seeing faded bruises and a cast on his left arm. He wasn't sure how he'd missed that before, but now that he'd spotted it he couldn't look away, even when those big, dark eyes tried to lock onto his. He was terrified. "Fuck, Riggins," Martin breathed at last.

The military man that had offered him help and given him hell instead stepped forward, waving the guards back as he approached the first Rowdy to have been caged there at Blackwing. Martin squared his shoulders, a growl echoing deep in his throat and he could feel both Gripps and Cross' building agitation. Riggins leaned in so that only Martin could hear him. "I pulled every last favour I had, but it didn't come without strings. My superiors need answers, and if they are going to continue to sink money into the program, continue to fund research into Project Incubus, I had to offer them something. The boy connected with you, just as I thought he would. Now you four need to earn your keep."

"You're one sick bastard, you know that?"

"I'm trying to keep you alive."

"That's a load a bullshit. You tell yourself that t' sleep at night?"

" _Martin_ ," Riggins snapped, "this isn't the time for you to buck the system. If there was ever a time to fall into line, this is it. This is where you decide if you and your boys survive this or if this is where the project ends."

"Didn't realize we had that choice."

"You don't want it to end, son. That's the end to everything with you, with your friends. There's nothing beyond this. Blackwing doesn't leave loose ends."

The meaning was clear enough. The end of Project Incubus meant the subjects' deaths. Martin glanced back at his brothers - all three of them now - and did his best not to visibly shudder. "So you bring us a kid…. To what? Make sure we fall in line?"

"To study the connection with a new member. I know you don't give a damn anymore how I feel, but don't let him down, Martin." That said, Riggins turned and motioned, taking the guards out with them. They were still being watched - of course they were being watched - but they'd been left alone with the boy.

He looked at them, his dark eyes a little to big for the rest of his features and the jumpsuit they had put him in hanging off of his too-thin frame. Jacob. Riggins had called him Jacob. That didn't seem right.

"Vogel," he said, his voice a little squeaky as he rocked back and forth from his toes to his heels, answering the question that hadn't needed to be voiced. That sounded better.

"Vogel," Cross echoed and motioned to his arm. "Priest do that?"

"The big guy?" Vogel asked, raising his hand as far over his own head as he could manage. "The mean one? With the scary smile?"

"That's Priest," Gripps confirmed.

"Yeah."

Martin pushed a breath out through his nose, feeling his temper flare. Vogel must have felt it because a shrank back just a little.

The blond Rowdy blinked at the reaction and took a knee in front of him. "You got anyone on the outside?" He waited for the little boy to shake his head before nodding. "Kay. Now you got us. We ain't gonna let Priest touch you again. Ever. Got that?"

Slowly Vogel nodded, but it took a long moment and his own hesitant gaze shifting between each before he seemed to believe it. All at once he launched himself at Martin, flinging thin arms around his neck and holding tight.

A small sound escaped him, but he didn't wait to wrap arms around the kid, Gripps and Cross joining him on the floor to do the same. "The Rowdy Three protect each other," Martin promised softly. "That means you too."

* * *

Notes: I know I've had a lot of requests for Vogel and here we are. So begins the final act of the story.


	36. Safe

**Safe**

They had left the Rowdy Boys in the observation room. No one came to get them after Riggins left and no one bothered them. After a while it was almost easy to ignore the fact that they were being watched from the observation deck above, hidden behind the large, one-way glass panes. Martin could still smell them, but even his focus was redirected by their newest brother.

He was small, but he had the boundless energy of a recently fed psychic vampire. The hesitation that he'd had when the link had first clicked into place didn't last long and Vogel was bouncing all over the place. He leapt up on Gripps' back for a piggyback ride that the older Rowdy readily gave, and when he tired of that he jumped over with surprising agility for all of his awkwardly long limbs to swing from Cross' arm, the tall Rowdy lifting him fully off the floor so that his feet didn't touch. The howling laughter from the kid filled up the whole room and drowned out even Blackwing's foul stench. He was happy and Martin could feel it spreading. They were whole. They hadn't realized that they weren't before, but now that three had become four, it was a truth that resonated through them.

If there was one thing he'd learned in Blackwing, though, it was that happiness didn't last. Even those brief moments of utter joy could be crushed out by the higher ups that held their lives in their hands.

The hiss of gas caused all four of the Rowdy Three to freeze where they were and Martin loosed a low, dangerous growl as his gaze flickered up towards the vents above. That white smoke was filling up the room. It was a big enough room that it would take a few minutes to knock them out, but the moment it touched their skin, the second it filled their lungs, they'd be paralyzed.

"No no no no!" Vogel screeched at the top of his lungs, panic spiking hard, and took off for the door. He slammed into it like he thought his slight frame would be enough to take it fully down. He bounced off of it, eyes wild as he looked back at the smoke and tried again.

"Hey." Martin waited until he looked over and offered what he could of a smile for the frightened child. He needed to keep him calm. He needed to make sure that they didn't hurt him. "This is what they do. They're movin' us. We ain't gonna let anythin' hurt you, Vogel. You trust me?"

Vogel nodded slowly, but the fear didn't fade from his eyes even if the barest edges of the panic eased out. However long he'd been there, whatever he'd seen, it'd been enough to know to be scared of this place. Even as the gas filled his lungs Martin found himself thinking of all the ways that he was going to make Priest pay for hurting his family.

* * *

Martin came around slowly. That was always the way it worked after he'd been gassed. He found himself lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling from his mattress, and the sound of muffled crying reached his ears. He blinked hard and sat up, squinting towards the source of the sound.

Vogel was curled up at the foot of the three mattresses that were laid out on the floor, sadness and fear rolling off of him in waves. Martin reached back for his glasses that were sitting exactly where he kept them by the mattresses at night, and slipped them up his nose so that his baby brother came into focus. The boy had turned those large, dark eyes on him, and he saw that they were rimmed red, snot bubbling out his nose. He pulled in a shaky breath and relief was added to the mix of emotions before he ran his arm across his nose. "Thought they'd hurt you."

"Just the gas. You've seen that, right?"

Vogel gave another sniff. "Nobody woke up."

Martin looked over to where Cross and Gripps were still sleeping off the effects of the gas. "Takes a while to wear off, but they're okay," he promised, watching the boy carefully.

There were too many emotions pouring through the newly formed link. Vogel didn't know how to process them, so he sure as hell didn't know how to filter them before they slammed into the blond Rowdy, nearly overwhelming him. Martin drew in a deep breath, trying to push his own focused calm over to balance it out, and he motioned for the kid to move closer. As soon as he did he put and arm around him and Vogel readily folded in as Martin laid back down on their makeshift bed. Gripps inched closer and wrapped an arm around their newest brother too, never opening his eyes. From behind him Cross' sleepy, mumbling voice could be heard. "We gotcha, Vogel."

Slowly the raging emotions settled out and Martin felt the boy relax, wrapped up between them, and something else drifted through the link. _Safe_. The feeling was so strong that Martin could almost hear the word, and he made a silent promise that he would never let Blackwing hurt their new baby brother. They were going to keep him safe.

* * *

Notes: And it's back! Sorry this took so long to update. I took what I thought was going to be a brief detour to another story that wouldn't leave me alone and it grew to over 80K words long. Oops?

We're working up to their escape now that Vogel's here, but I expect that there will be at least a handful of scenes before that happens. I've waiting a long time to dive into adorable Rowdy moments with ten-year-old Vogel XD


	37. Family

**Family**

Vogel was never alone, they made sure of that. Even when Blackwing split them up, one of the older Rowdies was always with him. They had all known what it was like to be alone in Blackwing at some point or another, separated from their brothers, and not one of them was going to let their new brother suffer through that if they could stop it.

There had been fewer tests of the usual sort. Blackwing seemed more interested in observing them with their newest member so far. The bond, like with the others, had been nearly instantaneous, but they were still getting to know him and vice versa.

The kid brought a light with him that Martin had all but forgotten could exist. There was always a buzz of energy around them, and Vogel not only matched it, but he added to it. It glowed and sparkled and exploded in every colour imaginable, like the firecrackers that he'd set off once as a kid no older than Vogel was right then. His laughter helped push back the constant loom of crazy that Martin knew tugged at each of their minds, and left him with the feeling of puzzle pieces sliding perfectly into place and making a whole. Somehow, it made everything that they'd been through to be there so they could meet him bearable.

They slept less these days, Vogel's seemingly boundless energy sparking across their link, and that left them with hours to fill in the confines of their room. That meant that they had time to get creative.

Cross decided he wanted to teach their youngest brother how to play baseball. The fact that they didn't have any of the equipment and that none of them really knew or remembered the rules to the game didn't deter him. He balled up a full roll of toilet paper as tightly as he could, packing and wrapping until it was dense enough that it wouldn't fall flat, and then he turned his eyes on the unused bunk bed. "Yeah?" he asked, bouncing a little as he did, and the rest of the Rowdy Three grinned as they went to town on the metal structure. It wasn't long before they broke a long enough piece off to use. It looked more like a crowbar than a bat, but it'd serve the purpose well enough.

The balled toilet paper was shredded and useless pretty quickly, and they moved to slamming the makeshift bat into smaller pieces of the bed frame, hitting broken metal into the door, into walls, and into the guard that came in to see what the racket was. The gas came shortly after that.

They were wired in the days following, and the moment that Gripps found out that Vogel had _never_ seen a movie before - they weren't sure who'd been raising the kid up until that point, but Gripps was sure they had been doing it wrong…. not that the fact that Blackwing had gotten ahold of him shouldn't have been the first signal - he made a move to rectify that. There was no way that Blackwing was going to give them a TV - or radio, Martin thought bitterly - so the first thought was sock puppets. They worked for some of the scenes, but what really entertained their new brother was with the shadow puppets. Gripps had him cackling with the voices and Vogel rocked back, clutching his sides and kicking his long, scrawny legs in the air as he tried to breathe around the laughter.

It filled their cage, contagious and wonderful, encouraging the older Rowdies in their shenanigans.

That first week was filled with what looked like boundless energy, but even the Rowdy Three had their limits. Martin could feel the drag from Cross and Gripps even as Vogel cartwheeled from one side of the room to the other, using the mattresses in middle as a landing point so that they couldn't sleep without getting landed on.

Martin settled against the far wall, digging his pack of cigarettes out of their hiding place and frowning at the two left. Well, no point in not smoking them. He knocked one out and put it to his lips, the lighter taking some effort before it sparked. He felt the nicotine flood his system with the first drag, easing the constant tension just a little. He made sure to push the calm over their shared link and watched as Gripps curled up on mattresses with Cross behind him. Vogel was still on his feet, bouncing just a little, and he looked back at Martin like he was waiting for something.

The older Rowdy pulled in a lungful of smoke and slid down the wall so he was sitting, knees bent and back pressed against the unmoving structure, his gaze focused on the dark haired boy even as he gave the barest of nods for him to come over. Vogel swayed for just a moment before bounding from his spot to sit next to him.

Martin reached carefully across their link and he felt a small smile tugging his lips. Vogel was fighting the crash.

"Martin?"

"Yeah?"

He sat silent for a moment and the blond stretched his legs out, getting more comfortable where he sat and smoked. "What are we?"

That hadn't been the question he was expecting. It was weightier than even Vogel knew, and Martin pushed smoke out through his nose, considering his answer very carefully. He reached out, pulling the kid half into his lap so he could hold onto him. "We're family," he said at last, and Vogel leaned into the embrace, finally giving to the need for rest.

"Family," he repeated sleepily. "'Kay."

Martin felt the younger Rowdy relax against him, his breathing evening out in sleep, and the blond ground out the stub on his cigarette on the hard floor and flicked it off to the corner before wrapping both arms around the kid, holding him close and safe as the Rowdies slept.

* * *

Notes: Hat tip to Osric for the shadow puppets idea, because he mentioned in an interview once when he was asked what Vogel's favourite movie was that it would have been something that the Rowdy 3 put on for him as a kid with shadow puppets and it stuck.

Kiddo Vogel may be the death of me, just want to throw that out there.


	38. Safe as They Could Be

**Safe As They Could Be**

It was difficult to choose the worst type of session at Blackwing. They all sucked at a level that Martin was relatively sure no human being should be put through, but one that had a special place of loathing in his heart were the _chats_. Sometimes formal - a briefing or a psych evaluation - and sometimes informal, in which Riggins sought him out alone and tried to act like he was still a friend. Not that he ever had been at all.

Martin wasn't sure who he was waiting on, just that he didn't like it. He'd been given a chair to sit in and was left with the overwhelming urge to pace. He was being watched, though, and he didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing the nervous energy.

So he sat and he waited, and when the doors opened he expected Riggins to walk in. With a heightened sense of danger it was difficult to sneak up on a Rowdy, most of all Martin, but he'd been lax. Not now. As soon as the doors opened to reveal a sauntering Osmund Priest every muscle in Martin's body tensed, coiled and ready to spring into a fight. Priest looked entirely unphased, bodyguards or lackies or whatever they were surrounding him. He offered a lazy smile. "Howdy, Martin."

"Priest," the Rowdy growled out.

The tension hung heavy in the air, Priest smirking, Martin halfway out of the chair, and every gun in the room swiveling on him. A low chuckle escaped the psychopath and he waved the men down. "Now we don't need none of that, do we, Martin?"

The snarl started low in his throat and only seemed to amuse Priest as his men finally lowered their weapons.

"What do you want?"

"Oh, just a chat. Like you 'n Riggins have from time to time. He's been receivin' some complaints from the staff-"

"And he sent _you_?"

"His superiors sent me," Priest corrected. "See, Riggins seems to think you're the one to reason with. That you're the focused one in the group. I'm inclined to agree, but you're also the most stubborn."

"You don't know my brothers very well," Martin answered, flashing a dangerous smile.

"Better 'n you'd like," Priest answered, The look in his eyes making Martin uncomfortable. It was excitement. Vicious, twisted excitement. At least his brothers weren't there for the maniac to use against him.

"See," Priest drawled, "I know you boys have a protective streak. Your greatest weakness is them and you're theirs. Then there's Jacob."

Martin sprang forward without warning, covering the distance between them faster than anyone else could react, and he stopped an inch or two away from the Blackwing agent's face. His glasses slipping down his nose just a little, and he locked his glare on him over the rims. "You stay away from him, you got that?"

"You tryin' to get yourself killed, boy?" Priest chuckled and motioned to where every gun was aimed at the blond Rowdy again. He hadn't even noticed. He still didn't care, and a dangerous growl escaped and he didn't budge, never quite touching Priest.

"Bringin' a kid here's low even for you people. You ain't gonna touch him. You think we're bad now? You _look_ at Vogel wrong and we'll burn your whole damn fortress to the ground."

"That a fact?"

"And I'll start with you."

"Oh well then," the older man chuckled. "I look forward to another round with you, Martin. No rules, no restrains. Just you and me finishin' what we started. Sounds like a party I don't wanna miss."

Martin clenched his teeth, refusing to budge from the close and threatening proximity, but with at least five high powered weapons trained on him he knew better than to take it further than that. Getting himself killed that afternoon wouldn't help his brothers.

Priest huffed a bored sort of sound. Martin thought he was going to give and pull back, but instead the other man reached back, balled his fist, and slammed it hard into the Rowdy's middle, effectively driving the air out of him and he caught Martin as he hunched over, gasping in surprise. "No need to rush the fun just yet though. Still plenty more to be had, ain't that right?"

The older man chuckled as Martin struggled to pull enough air in to respond, the only sound managing to escape a pained gasp as he struggled to refill his lungs. Priest loosed his hold and Martin sank to one knee. "See, and that's how it's done. Not all that lip you give Riggins. _That_ is why they send me. Now you be a good little Dracula and I don't have to do the same thing to that new brother of yours."

Martin managed a snarl, but the sound was pitiful even to his own ears. Priest continued to chuckle as he turned on his heel and walked out of the room, leaving Martin on his knees, Blackwing guards ready to shoot at the first wrong move.

* * *

The other Rowdies nearly dragged one of the guards that was "escorting" Martin back into the room before he had a chance to get away, which probably wouldn't be the best tactic directly after the set of threats delivered by someone that Martin knew would carry them out. He didn't stop them though as they laughed and jeered, grabbing at the guy even as he threatened to turn the gas on and his buddies warned about reinforcements. The laughter finally died down after the door slammed closed - nearly catching Cross' waving hand - and Vogel launched himself at Martin, wrapping his arms around his neck and hanging off of him. "Miiiiiiiiissssssssed you!"

"Yeah, you been gone a long time, man," Cross chimed in.

"Thought they'd taken you again," Gripps added quietly.

"Nah. Not so bad," he muttered in response as Vogel finally released him. Martin took the opportunity to go for his last cigarette stored away, and he could feel Gripps and Cross watching him carefully. They felt it. As much as he tried to bury it so he didn't burden them with it, they could sense the worry and the stress.

"What're we gonna do tonight, guys?" Vogel asked, bouncing around the room. "Wanna play baseball? Or, or we could grab what's left of the bed and you guys can toss me up. I bet I can jam the stuff in the top wall and we can make _monkey bars_!"

"Yeah yeah!" Cross agreed, looking to Gripps.

"They took the bed away."

"Oh yeah. They suck!"

"They suck!" Vogel echoed, giggling as he did. "Whatcha wanna do, Martin?"

The blond puffed on his cigarette and gave a noncommittal wave. He needed time to think, to weigh options. The noise and energy would help him focus in on that. He needed to find a way to keep them safe in the hellhole they were in.

It took a moment for him to key in on the fact that all three of his brothers were now watching him, even Vogel. The kid started forward, reaching out and taking hold of the older Rowdy's hand and tugging. "Don't be sad, Martin. Come cuddle."

Martin swallowed the explanation that he wasn't sad, per se. He was angry and frustrated that he couldn't do more to protect them, and he was terrified that the worst would finally happen and Blackwing would take things too far. But Vogel didn't need to know that. He didn't need to understand anger and fear. Not yet. Not as long as they were capable of protecting him.

So instead of an explanation, Martin let himself be pulled towards the pallet they all slept in in the middle of the room and took a hard seat there. Almost instantly Gripps flopped an arm around him from one side, Cross from the other, and Vogel piled in on top of all three of his brothers with Martin secured in the middle. Nobody said anything, but he could feel at least some of the tension drain. It wouldn't last forever, not as long as they were trapped there, for the moment they were as safe as they could be, and he let himself sink into that feeling for as long as he could.

* * *

Notes: Ages ago I received a prompt over on Tumblr for 'come cuddle' for the young Rowdy 3 and I knew I needed to fit it into this story somewhere. I'm so glad I found this spot for it. Precious little Vogel, just trying as hard as he can.


	39. Tipping Point

**Tipping Point**

"I'm _hungry_!" Vogel whined, his voice loud enough that it felt like it filled the whole room. Or maybe it was just that they all felt the same way and he'd finally voiced it. "What are they doing? Starving us?"

"Probably not," Gripps huffed.

"Probably?!"

"They do this sometimes," Cross offered with a shrug.

They were all dragging, tired and hungry. Blackwing did have a handful of tactics they used to control the Rowdy Three and starvation was one of their favourites. It looked like they were going that route before risking trying to beat them into submission.

There was a consensus that didn't need to be voiced. They just knew. None of the boys were interest in toning themselves down for the sake of Riggins or Priest or any other Blackwing bastard that wanted to take a go at them. This would pass, like everything else. They just needed to be patient and make sure one of them was always with Vogel.

"So what do we do?"

Martin pushed a long breath out through his nose. "Wait," he huffed. "Ain't gonna let us starve to death. They're making a point."

"What point? I don't get it."

Blue eyes flickered over to meet wide, innocent brown ones.

"That they're assholes," Cross muttered.

"The worst," Gripps agreed.

Vogel bounced a little on his heels, looking at the older Rowdy. "Why do we gotta wait on them?"

"'Cause they hurt us if we don't."

"But _why_?"

How were they supposed to explain that the organization that held their lives in their hands was run by a bunch of sadistic bastards that liked to make them hurt, that wanted them on their knees? There wasn't an answer that was going to make sense to the kid.

It was another two days with no contact outside of their room before the locks came undone. The three older Rowdies were moving slower, but Martin saw Vogel leap up from his spot on the floor where he'd been working at pulling a loose piece of tile up from the corner where the flooring met the wall.

The burst of energy from their youngest brother shot through their link like electricity. Gripps reached out for him, not quite able to catch him before he raced forward and bounded up, only making it over the guard's head because he took him fully down to the floor as he did so, his laugh filling the room as he landed, stumbling a little as he did.

Martin was on his feet, Cross yelling happily at the surge and Gripps was grinning toothily.

The Rowdy Three jumped into action, and the guards never stood a chance. They had likely thought that they were too hungry, too sapped of energy to do any real harm, but their spiking fear smelled too good to resist. On some level Martin knew this could land them in a bad place, but it was always bad. Maybe it was time for Blackwing to be in the receiving end of lessons learned.

Two guards got out of the room, the door slamming behind them, and Cross caught a third trying to escape and threw him back into the room so that he toppled next to his cowering partner.

It was more than fear now. Stronger. This was utter terror, and Martin could taste it lingering in the air. His lips quirked up at the corners and he saw his brothers coming in so that they created a circle around the two shaking guards. "Priest will-" one tried, but Martin cut him off.

"Priest ain't here."

"Priest can't save you now," Gripps added.

"You know what that means?" Cross asked, licking his lips a little.

"Midnight snack!" Vogel cheered loudly and all four of the Rowdy Three latched on at once.

It wasn't often that they fed together, and they had never had to opportunity for all four to feed at once. There was more control in it, and as they fed off the two squirming guards, Martin could feel as they reached more dangerous levels, their meal stilling in the middle of the circle of psychic vampires.

He had been so caught up in their much-needed dinner that he hadn't heard the door slide open behind them again. The gas hit hard, sending Martin stumbling forward, but not quite off his feet. He turned to see Priest grinning like Christmas had come early as he raised an electrified baton and swung it into the dazed blond, toppling him the rest of the way to the floor and sending his glasses skidding.

Martin coughed hard, his body absorbing most of the electricity, but he couldn't take the whole hit in. Priest stepped over him, a foot on either side of his rib cage, and that shark-like grin didn't fade. "Can't say I didn't warn you," he said, stepping one heavy boot down against Martin's chest and leaned his weight into it.

"No no no no no!" Cross yelled from across the room.

"You touch him and we'll stomp your ass into next week," Gripps growled out, his tone more dangerous than Martin had ever heard and he turned to squint towards the rest of his brothers. They were being held, two guards on each of the older ones and Vogel was being dosed with an extra round of gas and thrown over one guard's shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Gonna beat you into next _year_!" Cross shouted. "Ain't gonna be nothin' left!"

"You're making a mistake," Martin warned dangerously.

"No, Martin. You did."

Martin reached out, pulling energy from Priest, but the older man slammed the baton into his jaw, whipping his head around and instantly cutting off the flow. Martin felt the pressure on his chest ease, but his head was ringing too badly to turn and watch Priest go for the door. He heard the sound of his brothers being gassed again and Vogel's struggling cries. They were taking him.

The door slammed shut and locked behind the guards and Martin forced himself to roll to his stomach. Next he got his arms under him and pushed himself up to his knees, getting to his feet the next step. Everything was spinning and his ears were ringing, but the rage and leftover energy from the feeding was coursing through him.

"They took him," Gripps said lowly.

Cross was stumbling to his feet too. "What are we gonna do, Martin?"

A growl started deep in his chest and Martin straightened. "Exactly what I told Priest we would. We're gonna burn the place to the ground."


	40. Make it Hurt

**Make it Hurt**

The energy was buzzing through the room, electrified and angry. So angry. They could feel it, breathe it in. It reverberated through their bones and coursed through their blood. There was no stopping them, not with the feeding they'd just had. Not with their youngest brother in need of their help.

Cross whooped, Gripps shouted, and Martin loosed a low, dangerous growl as he fixed his icy gaze on the door, his focus zeroed in on feeling for those on the other sides. There were guards. Good. They'd start with them.

"Yo, Martin."

He turned for a moment to see Gripps grinning at him, having scooped his glasses up off the floor and plopping them on his own nose. "Let's make 'em hurt, brother."

The blond flashed a dangerous grin. Funny, he didn't even need his glasses. It wasn't that he could see without them, he just didn't need to. His senses had never been sharper, his focus more absolute. He could smell and he could feel everything around him. This was it. He tilted his head back and loosed a howl that they must have heard from the hall.

The doors were locked tight, but the entire base ran on electricity and that was its downfall. The Rowdies couldn't feed off of it, per se, but like the lights, like the cameras, nothing lasted when their energy levels were high enough. That's why Blackwing did their best to keep them contained.

Martin heard the pop and the sizzle of the mechanisms inside as well as the shuffling of the guards outside. He flashed a toothy grin as he and Gripps took hold of either side of the door and tugged hard, ripping it open and Cross flew out faster than any of the guards could react. He tackled the first, kicking the second one simultaneously, and Martin and Gripps followed at his heels. The three drew their energy in, downing the Blackwing guards instantly and leaving them piled on the floor in their dust as they hollered and howled their way down the hall. Let them know they were coming. They couldn't' stop them. Not that night.

It had been too long since they'd fought back like this. It was invigorating. Guards came from all directions and they flattened them without a second thought. Bones broke under knuckles that bruised, and Blackwing didn't know what hit them as three rowdy psychic vampires blew through their best defences. Martin had to wonder how they'd never tried this before, but just as quickly as the question flittered through his mind the answer came. They'd never been this well fed. Not once since they each had been dropped into this hell hole. Whatever limits they had, they'd never known them. Time to learn.

Cross cackled as he grabbed a baton from a guard and swung it hard, sending him flying in one direction, a couple of his teeth in the other. One came at him from behind, but Gripps grabbed him and pulled him back, ignoring the pleas as he headbutted the man into unconsciousness.

Martin darted forward, not willing to interrupt his brothers' fun, but he'd latched onto the scent he'd been looking for. He'd know Priest anywhere, and where Priest was, so was Vogel. He could feel him.

He followed his path, vaguely aware that the other two were hot on his heels and that there were alarms blaring overhead. Funny, the guards were thinning out the further in they went, almost like word was spreading and they were making a run for it. Over a decade in that place and finally, Blackwing was terrified of them for a change. It was exhilarating.

He slammed into a guard, taking him down to the ground and he felt energy transfer, the fear tasting sweet. Martin snapped his teeth close to the quivering guard's face and flipped over him, landing on the hard floor and on his feet, his toes sliding to the front of the house shoes he wore. They had been dressed in their blue sleeping shirts and pants, the majority of the base shut down for the night. Priest really had fucked up this time.

Martin rounded around the corner, barely able to catch himself in his haste and he felt Cross grab onto him to keep from missing their hall, Gripps barreling into them and pushing them forward. All three slammed into the door at the end of the hall, the metal giving under their force, and guns were trained on them. It didn't matter. Not this time. They were moving too fast.

"Oh yeah!" Vogel called out from the middle of the room, the dousing of gas already beginning to wear off of him with the rush of energy and even the restraints holding him to the chair didn't last long. As he got free and jumped to help the others, Martin turned his icy gaze on Priest who was standing off to the side. For once, Martin thought that he might have realized the depth of his mistake.

"We're gonna kill you this time, boy," he tried.

"No," the taller man growled, "try the other way 'round."

Priest moved and Martin launched forward, his fingers latching around the Blackwing bounty hunter's uniform and he slammed him hard into the wall, not giving him an inch. He heard the other man give a low _oof_ , his head bouncing off the plaster behind him, but he didn't wait. Priest slammed his head forward, colliding with Martin's, and the blond Rowdy barely caught the movement as Priest tried to swing his automatic weapon around to take aim.

Martin reached out, fingers latching around Priest's wrist and threw his arm backwards so that it hit the wall hard enough that his finger spasmed on the trigger and bullets sprayed outward. One of the other Rowdies laughed as their guards toppled from friendly fire and Martin leaned in, growling lowly. "I told you that we'd burn this place to the ground if you looked at him wrong."

"You'll never make it out alive."

"Yeah we will. You won't though." For the first time in his life he wasn't hungry, but he reached anyway and felt the energy flow through to him. Priest's back arched and Martin pulled in and in until he felt the other go limp in his grasp and he loosed his grip on his weapon. Martin didn't let him drop, but instead reached down to his belt, finding what he was looking for and flashed a wolfish grin. "Fire in the hole, boys!" he yelled, ripping the gun from Priest's limp fingers who're finally letting him collapse to the floor.

He was pretty sure Vogel giggled shrilly as he tossed not one, but two live grenades back and all four of the Rowdy Three darted for the door, slamming it shut behind them as the explosions sounded inside, the pressure enough to blow the door back open behind them. He turned, risking a look at the destruction zone that had been a room, bodies laid out from the blast, and he struggled to look through the rising smoke and the flames to catch sight of Priest and see if he'd finally done the bastard in.

"Martin!" Gripps yelled out and the blond nodded. They needed to go. They needed to get free.

* * *

Alarms were blaring overhead and the lights were flashing in time. Shouting came from all directions, but there was no stopping them.

The boys gathered weapons as they went, bashing into lights, control panels, and computers all the way. Anything that was in their path they destroyed, loosing the other prisoners as they did.

"Break it! Beat it! Make it hurt!" Cross shouted as he slammed the batons he'd stolen into glass, shattering it. He grinned viciously at a couple of guards that looked like they were going to try to block their path and they took off down the hallway, opening up their escape route again.

Martin inhaled deeply and grabbed Gripps by the collar. "Look at that."

Gripps squinted through the blond's glasses and tilted his head so they slipped down his nose enough to peer over them. "Server room."

"Open every door and destroy every file."

"Can't find us if they don't know who all they lost," Gripps agreed.

Martin put his fingers to his lips, a loud, sharp whistle drawing the other two over, and he barely had to nod towards the room before they caught on, sparks flying as the computers were decimated. Somewhere in there all the lights, including the alarms, kicked off and the only sound for just a beat was that of locks coming undone all at once.

"Let's go," the blond said lowly. No need to wait until the backup generators kicked in.

The doors remained open even when the emergency lights flickered back on and Martin blew through the exit first.

Fresh, cool air hit, and he breathed it in. He'd been out of the base dozens of times, but this smelled like freedom, even if there were still a ton of guards between them and the perimeter.

"They came to play!" Vogel shouted and bounded towards them, literally bouncing from one to the next, taking them out as he went. His laughter echoed around his excitable shouts as he made his way through the crowd of terrified Blackwing guards.

No matter how many came at them the Rowdy Three only piled them higher. Martin leapt up on one pile, the rush of the breakout coursing through him like a drug. He could feel his brother's at the edge of his senses, hear his own excitable shouting, and he'd held onto Priest's machine gun until the clip was empty.

There was a shift in the air that was accompanied by the sound of rotary blades pulling a helicopter higher in the air, the smell of gasoline hitting hard. "Eyes up!" he yelled, all mirth suddenly put away. Riggins. Riggins was making one last attempt, and they couldn't risk underestimating them. Not if they really wanted to get away this time.

Vogel laughed loudly as he jumped for Cross and Gripps who launched him upward. Martin lost sight of him, but he could smell the excitement and hear his laughter. Riggins didn't stand a chance.

The guards that had been rushing them were running from them now, fleeing the fire and the destruction that was coming down all around them. Martin closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to get a good gauge of if they had a clear path out or not. Finally, blue eyes popped back open. "Boys," he called out, drawing Cross and Gripps' attention. "Let's go."

Two of the four Rowdies tumbled over each other in their excitement, rushing to follow their oldest brother in whatever direction he chose to go. They made it as far as the treeline when Vogel came swinging down to meet them, jumping all over his brothers as they darted into the shadows, not one of them risking a glance back to the chaos they had left in their wake, even as a new explosion sounded in the distance. They didn't dare look back if they wanted to put enough distance between them and Blackwing to actually escape this time, and Martin wasn't going back into a cage. They were free.

* * *

Notes: Originally I planned for this to be two shorter chapters, but it worked out better as one longer one. I suppose that makes this the second-to-last chapter?


	41. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

There was a long my stretch of silence and Amanda shifted in her place on the fallen tree, unsure if the story was really over or not. There had been short pauses littered in as Martin had lit a cigarette or tried to find the right wording for something particularly nasty that had happened to them. She didn't think she had moved the entire time, and now that she had she could feel just long they had been sitting there in one place. She risked a look at Martin to find his gaze fixed on some undefinable spot on the forest floor in front of him and he cleared his throat, grinding the stub of what was left of his cigarette under his boot. "We didn't sleep for…. a week after that," he said quietly. "Somethin' like that. Gripps an' me knew what happens if you let your guard down when Blackwing is chasin' you. Got miles away, found the van, and never really stopped runnin' I guess."

He reached for his pack to find it empty. He frowned at it like it had purposefully betrayed him and Amanda tried for a smile as she grabbed for her half-pack she still had left and offered.

"You had your own all this time?" he groused.

"Hey, you kept offering," she teased back and leaned in, her shoulder bumping his until he took the offered pack. She watched as he put one to his lips, blue eyes slipping closed as the flame from his lighter bit at the paper of the rolled cigarette, lighting it up, and he inhaled deeply. The tenseness in his expression eased just a little with the fresh rush of nicotine and she felt him lean into her ever so slightly. She responded by laying her head against his shoulder, her voice soft as she spoke. "I'm sorry."

Martin snorted. "I told you not to worry 'bout asking. Not your fault it's a sore spot."

"Not just that," she murmured, pulling away so that she could look at him. "They never would have gotten you this time if you hadn't bought Vogel and me time to get away, and…. I'm sorry it took me so long to find you."

Blue eyes were staring at her over the rims of his newly-replaced glasses and Amanda resisted the urge to squirm under the intense gaze. He finally quirked one dark eyebrow at her, making her feel even more awkward. "Ain't nothin' to apologize for. You didn't put us in, but you did get us out."

There was something calming about the drawl of his voice and it soothed out the wrinkles of worry and guilt, easing them down and smoothing them. She wasn't sure if he was pulling at them intentionally or not, but whatever the case was, she felt better for it. Her boys were safe and she felt better for it.

Smoke curled out from Martin's lips and Amanda leaned in on impulse, her lips pressing against his bearded cheek. "Welcome home, Martin."

It took a moment, but she saw that small smile that she loved so much tug at his lips and it reached his eyes. "You too, Drummer."

"Yo, boss!" Vogel yelled from the camp and she looked back, seeing him bouncing up and down as if he were doing everything in his power not to jump in the middle of their moment. "We're making snores!"

"Smores, Vogel!" Gripps hollered from behind.

"With _marshmallows_ ," Cross added.

"You guys almost done?" Vogel asked impatiently.

Martin stood, entirely too steady for all the booze that they'd been drinking that night. "Just finished."

"You tell her how I took down a whole chopper?" Vogel threw his hands up in the air, imitating an explosion. "It went boooooooom! Nothin' left. Went straight into Blackwing!"

Amanda grinned. "Yeah, he told me, Vogel. Sounds like one hell of a night."

"We blew up _everything_!"

Her grin didn't fade as she watched him jump and run, all energy and happiness now that they were reunited. Amanda suddenly found a ringed hand extended in front of her, drawing her focus. "C'mon. We better get back before Vogel dumps all the marshmallows on the fire."

Amanda accepted Martin's offered help up and he immediately steadied her as she continued to pitch forward, a laugh escaping her. "What the hell was in that flask?"

Her blond Rowdy offered her a wink, but didn't let her go immediately. His expression softened. "Thank you, Manda," he said softly, his voice a little rough, and she thought that might have been the first time that he'd actually used her name. "We'd still be there if you hadn't got us out. Hell, we'd probably be dead by now. Thank you."

She swallowed hard, his gaze focused in on her in a way that left the rest of the world around them a little fuzzy, a little distant. He hadn't let go of her hand, but she hadn't let his go either. Instead she tightened her hold. "The Rowdy Three aren't supposed to be apart."

"Yo, Vogel, don't dump 'em all!" Gripps shouted from the camp, Vogel's giggle following.

Martin shook his head a little, that small smile returning. "Won't be again," he agreed, and the two of them moved back into the fray together, the sounds of laughter and general ruckus filling the night and working its way into her soul, and she knew no matter how far they traveled or where they ended up, as long as they were together they would be home. .

* * *

Notes: *deep breath* Finishing this is both really exciting and kind of sad all at once. I feel like with all multi-chapters, but I'm pretty darn happy with this one (with the exception jumping the gun in the prologue and not realizing Beast would join...oops?).

Thank you to everyone who stuck with it, even through the hiatus. I'm still so bummed that we'll never get any more for canon on Blackwing or even find out what happened to Riggins in canon. There was so much left unsaid and I am eternally bitter at BBCA for canceling this fantastic show. But at least there's fanfiction and fanart and fan theories... Honestly, this fandom is amazing and I love you guys dearly. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed :D


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